


Waterloo

by odeon



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, F/F, Heavy Angst, Lesbian Sex, London, Lots of Relationship Talk, Paris (City), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:17:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odeon/pseuds/odeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young museum guide, Therese Belivet, meets a mystery woman, Carol Aird, in London while getting over a dramatic period in her life. A lot of angst and inner turmoil, disillusionment and guilt - and a promise of new love and happiness... No fluff, sorry. Some sex to smooth things over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> After fluff it's time for some serious angst, I think. At least I need it. You may not, so feel free to skip this one... :)

”Don’t flatter yourself.” That’s all Genie had said when Therese went to see her in the hospital. It had stung like a knife stuck on her chest but she had remained at the foot of her bed anyway bleeding shame, embarrassment, disillusionment. When Genie had drifted to sleep she had wept like a child quietly, inconsolably, holding back sobs threatening to grow too vocal.

They had moved to London five years ago. It seemed like a lifetime now, another dimension and universe altogether. How very different she had been then, so full of life and hope. So very much in love with Genie, she hadn’t thought of a morning or a night without making love to her. They had left for work together and kissed their goodbyes at the Waterloo station. She had used to watch her disappear down the escalator before making her own exit.

When did she stop doing that? When did she just turn away after a quick peck on the cheek and let her mind so easily wander away from her? When did she quit loving the way her auburn hair danced in the air under the stuffy air conditioning?     

* * *

_Don’t flatter yourself_. She didn’t. She couldn’t for she blamed herself and even that felt like a cop-out. It’s so bloody easy to accept blame, Dannie had said hearing the news. We all have to take responsibility for ourselves, he had kept on.  _These profound truths we keep throwing around_ , Therese thought, _what use are they really?_ Has anyone ever really been consoled by them? _Not your fault._ Maybe not directly for _she should not flatter herself_   but still, she had been the trigger, the good enough cause for her to attempt it.

It’s not much of a living selling porn books on Old Compton Street if your mind is set on other things. Genie herself had said it though she hadn’t needed to. At the time they’d been so close you couldn’t have fit a straw between the two of them. It had sounded like something to be laughed at in a frivolous fashion. A joke, a lark, even.

And then it changed. Not like it had changed with Richard years before but changed any way. With Richard it had been easy for she couldn’t have cared less one way or another. It had been ugly her pushing him away, leaving him stranded with his feelings for her. All this time Therese hadn’t really given him another thought, not while she was so in love with Genie, but now it all came back violently, mercilessly. She had dumped Richard and she had dumped Genie. Was there a difference unless you counted the number of years? Five years, three good ones, one less than mediocre, the last one cold and unfeeling.   

It was so like her to bump into her boss right there at the hospital. The head curator of Tate Modern, Miss Abigail Gerhard. “Therese? Is it really you?” she had said spotting her by the water fountain. “What are you doing here?” And what had she done? She had burst into tears she didn’t even know she had still left in her.  

It was a meager living she was making in London but at least it was her own now. It belonged to her and no one else. She had left their home and found a dingy little flat next to Waterloo station close to her job. Walking past the pompous station entrance every morning, she was constantly reminded of it, though. The auburn hair, the kiss, the hope she had no more.  

Therese stood by the tiny table in her kitchenette eating her uninspired supper, a salad she’d picked up from a Tesco nearby. She hadn’t even bothered to put it on a plate. It occurred to her how very metaphorical the moment was for wasn’t she also eating her life straight out of the container, not bothering to heat it or to make it presentable in any way? It would’ve tasted the same, she reasoned, flat and uninteresting. Dull and unimportant.

* * *

Therese visited Genie every day though she hardly acknowledged her presence. She had nothing to say to her, she had told her in no uncertain terms. Therese saw their past relationship as a crime scene between the two them, a barred, restricted area with their outlines still drawn inside. _Do Not Cross_ was written all over Genie’s face.

“This one was definitely a ballet shoe,” Genie had laughed. “Soft, formless and gentle…” Therese had had a concerned look on her face. “Oh no… are you disappointed? Did you miss it?” she had asked all worried. “I loved it sweetheart – I love how different it can be each time…” Genie had replied kissing her frown away. Watching her curled up in the hospital bed, she recalled their pillow talk, their fun in naming their orgasms, describing them in the most imaginative ways. How would I describe her now, she asked herself.  A tumbleweed, a broken window ripped off its hinges? Sorrowful, violent images flooded her mind.   

Slipping into routines kills one’s soul, extinguishes life force, everything that ever meant anything. It turns off the sweet music and replaces it with boring thuds of repetition. Seeking connection became mere fumbling for release, for a moment of calm at the center of the storm which was us, Therese realized. She couldn’t remember the first time they’d lain in bed after making love feeling like perfect strangers but Therese did remember one moment when she was suddenly aware she wasn’t paying attention anymore. _Let’s get this over and done with._

Had she really thought so touching her, pleasuring her? If so, Genie must have noticed. But no, she hadn’t, she herself had said so throwing things on the floor, breaking them into dozens of rude shards shooting across the distance they had created. It had made Therese think of Saint Sebastian shot full of arrows as an urchin, left for dead.

Every day Therese was by her bed though she didn’t want her there. She would spend her lunch hour first running to the Waterloo tube station, on to the Northern line and off at King’s Cross, then sitting at the foot of Genie’s bed for half an hour. When she got back to the museum, she’d already overstayed but she was welcome to do so. “Take all the time you need”, Miss Gerhard had told her. She was grateful to her, since she had to go during the day. Genie’s mother who always came by later couldn’t stand the sight of her, _the unhealthy influence_ she had over her daughter.

* * *

Therese went upstairs like she did every afternoon after her visit. She drew a deep breath before entering her sanctuary, The Rothko Room. Once again she longed to see the Seagram murals which created the immersive environment so vital for her right now. The works, at first sight mere immaterial painterly surfaces, had grown on her. They had revealed themselves to her slowly yet unforgettably. Their surfaces, splatters and drips had followed Therese into dreams which had almost resembled happiness.

As always, the light in the room was dim but not to the extent that she wouldn’t have seen the one person she shared her sacred ground with. The woman was there as well, sitting on the bench deep in thought. Like Therese, she came in every day like a somber character out of an Edward Hopper painting. Therese never wanted to disturb her quiet contemplation so she remained on the background her back blocking the doorway, hoping to discourage others from entering their silent space.


	2. Relationship Vertigo

The woman was exquisite, Therese thought without really understanding why. She hadn’t examined her in any detail. Therese had barely dared to walk into the room when she was there let alone walk around her to see what she looked like. Her elegant back spoke volumes, though, she mused during the moments they were in the Rothko Room together. The way her head tilted slightly on the side was like a poem, she thought. Most of the time Therese imagined looking at a portrait of a woman, a painting she knew had to be three-dimensional but quite wasn’t.  
  
“You’re not interested in people as they really are”, Genie had told her when they had still been together. “You see others the way you want them to be, and when they let you see their real selves you are disappointed.” The image, her interpretation of a person, was more important to her than the actual human, Genie had pointed out. And this she had told her while they were still relatively happy.  
  
_What an awful thing to say_ , Therese had thought at the time rejecting Genie’s estimate of her. Now it seemed like a fact she had come to accept. “You want your very own Madeleine Elster and that, my love, makes you Scottie Ferguson with a serious case of relationship vertigo.” Genie had meant it as a joke, of course, but it did hit home, even then.

* * *

“I fucking hate what you’re doing to me” became a turn on after a while, the only tangible way to get it on. Screaming at each other, verbally ripping each other apart, segued all too often into frenzied sex on the floor which more often than not resulted to Gen’s tears of despair and Therese's storming out of the apartment upset, even disgusted. Yet they let it happen again and again for it was the only way to rekindle the physical attraction that was leaving them for good.

It got to the point Therese no longer wanted to return to home after one of their more desperate attempts, after she hadn’t been able to get off no matter how hard Genie had tried. Totally smashed, she had let a total stranger pick her up and fuck her in some shabby little place near Maida Vale. What a pathetic night it had been, her being so wasted she could hardly get her clothes off let alone feel anything her companion did.

The girl, for she was just a girl, had been very eager to please, this much she had registered, but other than that Therese had only been able to grasp the peculiarity of her awkward touches, the uncomfortable pressure of her elbows and the all too hungry, hard mouth on her body. Even the smell of her was all wrong she had hazily realized lying on her back on a lumpy mattress.

At work Therese would have gladly spent all her time with the unknown woman for she had started to view her and the Rothko room as the only rays of sunlight in her decrepit life. It was, of course, not possible. She had her duties as museum guide which meant having to drag groups of hapless tourists up and down the floors of the modern art haven.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like or even love her job at times, it was the people she couldn’t stand – the endlessly mundane crowds who never seemed to pay attention to anything she opened up for them to appreciate. She despised the tourists whose only interest was to run through the exhibition halls on their way to the gift shop. Their platinum credit cards erect, they stood in queues ready to hoard printed museum shirts and scarfs to stroke their wafer thin cultural egos.  
  
After every tour she would run back to the room to check if the woman was still there. Sometimes she was and when it happened, Therese felt as if all was well in the world for a moment, as if she could breathe a bit easier for just a little while. When she wasn’t, Therese was ridiculously disappointed, crushed by her sudden disappearance as if it had been a personal insult to her.

* * *

Now there she was at her usual place again in her quiet solitude, and Therese let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She sat down on the chair beside the door and attuned herself to the unbroken silence. They had never exchanged one word, never looked at each other, and maybe it wasn’t even necessary, Therese thought. _I know what you are thinking_.

After about twenty minutes the woman got up to Therese’s great surprise for she had never seen her exit the room before. She seemed taken aback by her presence. They stared at each other for a long time. If Therese had thought of her as exquisite before, only now she realized how truly beautiful the stranger really was.

Her magnificent face reminded Therese of a marble statue of Diana, _Nymphe de Diane_ , by Eugene-Antoine Aizelin. It seemed to radiate the pure essence of light emanating from within instead of just reflecting any outer source visible to human eye. One to appreciate human form, Therese couldn’t but marvel the splendor of her body as well. Hers was a one to send battalions of hopeful lovers to their self-chosen deaths, she thought gazing at her figure so graceful and stirring at the same time.

“Hello”, the woman said recognizing her as one of the staff members by the plaque on Therese’s lapel. Her lips curved into a playful smile as if they’d known each other forever. “Hello”, replied Therese her voice hardly stronger than a whisper. “Are you the one who’s been sitting behind me all these weeks?” the woman asked mischievously. “Yes”, Therese said smiling shyly. “I hope I haven’t bothered you.” The woman seemed amused. “Why would it have bothered me? This room is for everyone, isn’t it?” _No, it isn’t_ , Therese wanted to say. _It’s only for the two of us_.

“You like Mark Rothko?” Therese asked changing the subject. “I do – very much,” the woman replied letting her sight wander around the walls of the room. “Did you know he wanted to do large paintings for the exact opposite reason than how they were traditionally perceived?” she asked Therese. “He wasn’t interested in any grandiose or pompous displays… he painted them big because he wanted to be intimate and human.” The woman examined one of the murals very closely.

“He found smaller ones distancing,” Therese added knowingly, “something that places the viewer outside the actual experience the painting is supposed to project.” The woman turned around to look at her once more. “Exactly. Once you’re face to face with a big picture, you can’t escape it, you’re in it and it’s out of your control.” Her eyes were warm and smiling. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

For a flash of a second, Therese wanted inexplicably to go to her, to press her head against her bosom and ask for forgiveness for all her sins. She was certain the woman would understand everything – Genie lying in a hospital bed, her walking out on not just her and Richard but on love and hope as well.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is partly inspired by my visit to Tate Modern in 2008 when I was totally blown over by the Rothko Room. The rest of the fic is based on personal past research as well, unfortunately... ;)


	3. Serial Monogamists

Therese had a day off though it was the last thing she wanted right now. After talking to the mysterious woman she longed to be back at the museum, to sit in the room waiting for her. But how would it look like, her spending the little free time she had at her work place? She needed to catch up with all the things she had neglected recently – the boring everyday chores like going to the bank and cleaning up her place. And she needed to see Dannie.

Dannie hadn’t been at his usual corner for some time now. The familiar cardboard sign “all major credit cards accepted” with a used takeaway cup attached was there with the curled up sleeping pad but the man himself was nowhere to be found. Therese tried to remember the last time they’d seen each other.

“I remember reading from somewhere that if you put a bean into a jar every single time you have sex with your partner during the first year of your relationship, and then start picking them out one by one every time after, you won’t ever make it to the bottom.” Needless to say, Dannie didn’t believe in monogamy. “Spending your life so closely with just one person kills the sex drive”, he claimed although Therese had no idea where he got his profound experience from. Dannie had never spoken of anyone special ever having crossed his path nor did it exactly fit the image she had of him.

Most of the time he was a sorry sight huddled inside his dirty sleeping bag on Charing Cross Road. It hadn’t always been like that, Therese knew. She recalled the time he’d been selling Big Issues under the archway next to the National Theatre. Dannie had heckled her every morning she had passed him by on her way to work. One day she had finally stopped to talk to him and found him both smart and funny.

“I believe in unadulterated passion, and the only way to have it is to be brazenly promiscuous.” Dannie had chuckled. “I do believe in love,” he had been quick to add, “I honestly do. There’s nothing better than a heated love affair lasting from sundown to sunrise.” Therese had smiled not quite knowing if she believed her friend was quite as cynical as he sounded.

“But what about intimacy, taking the time to get to know the other person?” she had asked. “Do you even know yourself?” Dannie had questioned. “I don’t think anyone does, and if we don’t, what chance do we have of ever knowing someone else?” He sounded gloomy all of a sudden.

“The fact remains you and I and every fucking person in this world is just a messed up conglomeration of confused nerve ends, mere animalistic reflexes and all too half-baked ideas of what it means to function as a human.” Sipping his pint, he had continued. “And not just half-baked but clichéd ideas in a way that scares the shit out of me”, he had scoffed. “There are people who won’t bother to rethink their lives when another _love of their life_ crosses their path. Serial monogamists I call them, the worst of the lot – the fuckers who recycle their left over feelings in the next relationship without stopping to think what went wrong in the previous one.”

Therese remembered a book she had found at Genie’s book shelf when they had just met. They were still living in the States at the time, and they hadn’t even kissed yet. _We will, soon_ , she had mused standing there waiting for Genie to reappear from the kitchen. It was a book of poems by the French poet Paul Eluard.

She had opened the unassuming edition and noticed a handwritten inscription on its name page.

 

“To Genevieve,

All my love,

Peg

P.S. see page 27”

 

Feeling like an intruder, she had opened the marked page and read:

 

 

> _She is standing on my eyelids_  
>  _And her hair is in my hair_  
>  _She has the color of my eye_  
>  _She has the body of my hand_  
>  _In my shade she is engulfed_  
>  _As a stone against the sky_  
>    
>  _She will never close her eyes_  
>  _And she does not let me sleep_  
>  _And her dreams in the bright day_  
>  _Make the suns evaporate_  
>  _And me laugh cry and laugh_  
>  _Speak when I have nothing to say_

 

Hearing Genie’s footsteps approaching, Therese had quickly put the book back on its place but the poem had stuck on her mind. She had felt guilty of having spied on something so personal which didn’t belong to her. _So she has loved before_ , Therese had said to herself, and it had been quite fine, nothing to do with her, with here and now.    

Six months later when they were already lovers, Therese had spent her birthday with Genie and a couple of their friends. Opening her presents, she had left Genie’s gift for last. She had been so happy up to the point Genie had asked her to read the card attached to the gift box. Therese had recognized it immediately – the Eluard poem neatly written on the card.

Still, one can explain everything away if one has to. What kind of claim could anyone have for some poem, anyway? Therese had asked herself afterwards. It was a perfectly wonderful thing to give, and she did love poetry, after all. _A thoughtful gift, really._ Genie probably didn’t even remember getting it herself, she reasoned.

But where could Dannie be, she worried walking aimlessly towards the Trafalgar Square, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone missing, and it was those other times which made her so jumpy right now. Once she had found him all beaten up by the Leicester Square tube station. A rendez-vous with a john gone haywire, he had explained sporting a serious shiner. He had hardly been able to get on his feet when Therese had tried to help him up.

A sad sight greeted her at the foot of the Nelson’s Column. Disheveled and spaced out, Dannie slouched on the pavement. His pupils severely constricted, he didn’t register Therese standing in front of him. Tears stinging in her eyes, Therese pulled his dead weight up as carefully as she could. “C’mon, Dannie, let’s get you home…” She had no idea how to get him all the way to her apartment but she was determined to do it anyway.

Next morning Dannie was already doing better, joking around and being the charming self he was at his very best. Therese was leaving for work. “You can stay here for a while”, she offered cautiously. “There’s some toast and coffee, help yourself… get your strength back, you know.” He smiled adorably. “Thanks, I really appreciate it, I might just do that.” He noticed Therese looking around the apartment. “Hey… I’m not gonna nick anything from you.” Therese seemed embarrassed. “Of course not, why would I think that?”

When Dannie went to the bathroom, she hid the ashtray which had belonged to her father. It wasn’t worth much but it was the only memento she had left of him. She loved Dannie dearly but she also knew how to tell when a junkie was lying.

* * *

Back at the museum her spirits were crushed. The Rothko Room was empty. Therese roamed around the exhibition halls with very little to do. It was a slow morning. When she was about to go to the cafeteria to have a cup of tea, she bumped into Abigail Gerhard. “Hello, Therese, mind if I join you?” she asked. They entered the pleasantly quiet dining area and sat down at a small table.

After some work-related small talk Therese mustered up her courage. “There’s a woman in the Rothko Room… she’s there every day. Do you happen to know anything about her?” Miss Gerhard poured milk in her tea. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Aird? I think she’s the one, at least I’ve seen her there quite often. The beautiful blonde woman?” Therese nodded. “She and her husband are distinguished benefactors of our institution. They donate _a lot_ of money each year to keep us going.” Miss Gerhard paused to have a sip of her beverage. “Why do you ask?”

 _Mrs. Aird._ Therese shrank from her newfound knowledge. “No reason. I just had a conversation with her the other day and she seemed nice.” Her boss smiled. “She is very nice. I’ve known her forever – we used to go to school together. And she knows a lot about art.” Therese felt uncomfortable as if her skin had suddenly gotten too tight to hold her conflicting emotions inside. “You be a good girl to her now, you hear?” Miss Gerhard grinned. “We wouldn’t want to lose an asset like her.”

 _So she’s just another housewife living in Belgravia or some other posh neighborhood,_ Therese thought bitterly after they’d parted company. A housewife with nothing else to do except sit on a bench at the museum staring at paintings all day long. She was angry, she realized. _The cursed idleness of the rich_ , she fumed. It was the exact resentment she had felt towards Genie when it became apparent she wasn’t going to do anything about her misguided work life. After all, didn’t _she_ always have her trust fund to fall back on when she’d get sick and tired of peddling porn?  

* * *

“Hello again.” It was Therese’s turn to be startled. The woman opened the door to the Rothko Room while she was already in there. Therese hadn’t expected to see her again as if her dissatisfaction had somehow rendered the place out of bounds for a person she now knew as Mrs. Aird. Embarrassed, she greeted her nodding politely.

“I enjoyed our little talk the other day”, Mrs. Aird continued. Her voice was soft, meandering. “It’s refreshing to meet young people who are interested in more than just the obvious things.” She sat down next to her. “My name is Carol – Carol Aird”, the woman said extending her hand to Therese. “Therese, Therese Belivet.”

The woman raised her eyebrows curiously as if she had heard a secret she couldn’t quite believe. “Well, Therese Belivet, I believe we are both expats in this country? I can spot a New Yorker a mile away…” Her eyes gleamed of amusement. “You have a very good ear, Mrs. Aird. I guess my five years in Britain haven’t done much to do away with my accent”, Therese replied.

“Please, call me Carol. Aird is my husband’s name and very soon I won’t have any use for it at all.” Carol’s eyes examined her very carefully. “Why is that?” Therese asked in a sudden burst of bravery. “I’m afraid we’re in the middle of a very difficult divorce.” She touched her forehead to reign in a renegade strand of blonde hair. “Oh, I’m sorry…” Therese said suppressing the first smile she had had since yesterday when she had learned the news about her. “Don’t be.” Carol didn’t look sorry either but she did look sad.                

Then they fell silent again like all the other times in this very room. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, Therese thought. It was a silence so fragrant and appealing it filled her with joy and laughter she had known only as a child. The surrounding murals sucked them in with their tantalizing permutation of brilliant reds, deep browns and rich blacks. The weighted tension of the enchanted place made her want to take Carol’s hand, to lead her through the endlessly shifting shapes of what was and what could be.    

 


	4. Two Mirrors

"I don't want you here." Though Therese had visited Genie again and again, she hadn't said a word to her, not until now. “Get out.” Genie had uttered the very same words once before, but it had been under very different circumstances. When she had said it previously, the implied decision hadn’t lasted more than a couple of days. _If she were to stay away now, how would she know Genie really meant it this time?_  
  
The morning Therese had returned to their apartment from Maida Vale, she had waited until Genie had left for work. She needed time to pull herself together, time to stand in the shower and let the visible remnants of her mistake swirl down the drain where they belonged.  
  
Afterwards she had examined her naked body before the bathroom mirror. Thank God the girl wasn't a biter, she had exhaled. Yet she had felt as if the marks of her misstep were all over her anyway, and all of it could be seen if one would only look at her closely enough. Genie could see it, Therese knew, she could reveal the stains of her error with the blue light of their intimacy.  
  
Standing there, Therese was reminded of another moment in front of the mirror. The morning after she had slept with a woman for the first time ever. It had happened eight years ago and she herself had been just a girl, barely nineteen. She had watched herself with a renewed interest, a certain reverence even, for it had had such a devastating effect on her – devastating in the best possible sense.  
  
The woman in question had come by uninvited. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?” she had asked standing outside her dorm room. _You disturb me more than you can possibly fathom_ , Therese had wanted to say for she had suddenly been out of breath, simply ecstatic to see her there. They'd been friends for some time although Therese had suspected it wasn't an ordinary friendship. _I wonder if I'll finally find out what this is_ , she had thought to herself. What a peculiar question – one so open and yet shrouded in mystery. Why hadn’t she tried to supply the answer to it herself?  


* * *

The attraction had always been there in one form or another – as a keen interest in the members of her own sex – but she had been in quite a quandary about its incipient importance. A good Catholic schoolgirl, she had never crossed the line in anything or with anyone. The stupefying timidity, the preferred decorum of a young girl, had overshadowed her choices far too exclusively. Until the surprise visit the pieces of her life’s puzzle had remained in total disarray.  
  
When the young woman had sat across her to drink her tea, Therese had felt debauched by abrupt happiness. And then she had suddenly told Therese all about herself peeling off the carefully constructed layers of self-deprecation and understatement.    
  
She hoped her disclosure wouldn't affect their friendship, she had said to her. She knew she was going out on a limb, she had acknowledged almost apologetically. Therese had remained frozen on her seat unable to respond, her prior life flashing before her eyes like a mangled story that had suddenly started to make perfect sense.

Her reticence had of course been misinterpreted. The woman had looked frightened, certain she'd made a mistake confiding in Therese. She had started to awkwardly recant, to assure she hadn't meant to shock her when Therese had quite simply interrupted her nervous babbling. She was the same way, Therese had said to her astonished by her own candor, yet she had only just now fully realized it. Therese had needed someone to make it absolutely clear for her before she dared to throw her trademark caution to the wind.  
  
Two mirrors – the first the beginning, the second the end? The first one most certainly was, for she had spent what seemed like hours looking at her own reflection after the initial lovemaking. She’d been convinced anyone could see the tremendous, auspicious change in her. The latter not so much since it was merely a portrait of shame, a prophesy pointing at the terrifying tailspin that would swallow them whole.

* * *

It took Genie a long time to ask where she had been that night. Trying to please her, Therese had drawn her strength from guilt and regret. She had wanted to make amends not realizing that penitence is a poor substitute for any real emotion between two people. She had been groveling, grasping at straws to find a solid footing in her relation to Genie.

During their better moments they had reminisced about their meeting four years earlier, how Genie had come to ask her about some trivial study thing she already knew the answer for. “You were definitely flirting”, Therese had laughed refreshed by the vivid memory. “I guess I was. How could I not when you looked so adorable with your papers scattered all over the floor.” They had met at the library, and it had meant ridiculously much to Therese their meet-cute hadn’t taken place in some dreary bar. It had lent an aura of sophistication to everything unfolding later.          

Going to her place late at night, standing in front of the book case, Therese had waited. Filled with sweet anticipation, she had accepted the glass of wine Genie had given her. How she longed for those moments when anything had seemed possible, magical and miraculously weightless. The easy conversation before it became unnecessary, almost a hindrance. The thrilling darkness of Genie’s room enveloping them right before the first kiss… Now it was all in the past and all they were able to do was dwell in it instead of facing the reality they now shared. Therese knew it wasn’t enough for they were just picking a scab no longer able to bleed real feelings. 

When the unavoidable bad night came along, the question was right there waiting for her. “Where were you that night?” Therese had remained silent. Not answering was answer enough. “Get out.” Genie’s voice all cold and lifeless. Slowly she had picked up her things, the few items she needed for an overnight stay somewhere, anywhere, and left without a word. Once outside she had felt oddly relieved.

* * *

“Have you by any chance visited the Rothko Chapel in Texas?” Carol asked her the third time they met at the museum. “Can’t say I have”, Therese replied regretfully. “It’s the culmination of his work, really,” Carol continued, “an attempt towards transcendence, a total submission of oneself to the spiritual experience invoked by the paintings.” She toyed with a pack of Lucky’s she had picked up from her handbag. The slender fingers were restless, impatient to light a cigarette and slip it between her rouged lips.

“It made me think how very limited we are in our experience of the world, of our own existence”, she said staring into distance. “What a humbling place…” she added wistfully. Carol had disappeared somewhere Therese couldn’t follow, and she wanted desperately to pull her back. “Tell me more”, she pleaded. Smiling, Carol turned to her. “You’re a veritable snoop, aren’t you?” Her tone was teasing. “You should be. Every young person ought to hunger for all kinds of knowledge to come to grips with reality.” _I’m not that young_ , Therese wanted to protest.

“How old are you, Therese?” Carol asked as if she’d read her mind. “27”, she replied quite self-conscious all of a sudden. Amused, Carol scoffed. “You’re practically a child,” she scolded with the confidence of her superior age. Therese wanted to ask how old she was but decided against it. _She must be in her late thirties or early forties_.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s only abstract art that can bring us to the threshold of divine”, Carol spoke changing the subject. “Everything else is so matter-of-fact, so _defined_ even at its most striking.” She let out a sigh. “We are so cluttered with images nowadays, we’ve become numb.”

Accepting her smoke-free fate, Carol put the cigarettes away. “Rothko was an unhappy man, you know?” Therese did know that. “A sick, restless alcoholic with a penchant for smoking and unhealthy food…” she continued, “Sounds like quite a few people I know.” Carol sounded bitter. “But it wasn’t the lifestyle that made him kill himself. It was his inability to paint large pictures, I think.” Therese stared intently at Carol. The talk of suicide had hit a nerve. As Carol mentioned the word, the details of the artist’s sorrowful demise, her thoughts drifted to the fateful day she had found Genie at her apartment.

Genie had known Therese would be coming over some time that day, and she’d acted accordingly. Expecting yet another awkward encounter with her former girlfriend, Therese had found her on the bathroom floor instead, unconscious, overdosed on anti-depressants. Sprawled against the tiles she had had an oddly defiant look on her pale face. Afterwards Therese couldn’t remember the details of the afternoon, only the ringing in her ears, the shuffle of paramedics’ feet and the ghastly blare of the siren outside.     

* * *

“Get out.” What else was there to do than humor Genie at the time of such insistence? Therese did what she was asked to do but she knew she would be back. Maybe not tomorrow but next week at the latest.

“She didn’t take nearly enough”, Dannie had pointed out. “If she had really wanted to kill herself, she would have made damn sure to overdose properly and double-lock the bloody door. Genie’s no dummy. She wanted you to rescue her.” _I wonder_ , Therese thought walking out of the hospital. Whatever it was, hers was a terrible lot to carry, something she would have been tempted to switch the other way around. 

“This is not working for me anymore”, the young woman had told her after their turbulent college affair had progressed past its expiration date. Therese had been desolate, nowhere near the same page where she claimed to be. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Whenever she nowadays heard someone having said or heard the very sentence she knew very well it was rubbish. _It was always you, not the other way around_. I’m dumping you because _you’re_ not good enough, bright enough, sexy enough, _just not enough_.

Therese hadn’t said the exact same words to Genie but she might as well have. And some people took pride of not ever having been dumped by anyone. _Well, there’s a luxury one can live without_ , she scoffed. Even remembering her own despair, the feeling of utter loneliness and disillusionment having lost the one person who meant the most, Therese knew now she would always choose being the one who was left behind.         


	5. Cold Heartless Bitch

"I really don't need this co-dependent shit anymore." Therese had said it in the heat of the moment and regretted it almost instantly. It was a terrible thing to say, to reduce five years into a hateful quip designed only to hit where it hurt the most. She could have put it in so many other, more constructive ways. 

She could have talked to Genie about her feelings of loneliness and misery of not being able to experience the closeness they had once shared. How everything that had once energized her entire existence had at some point turned into its exact opposite, something that had sucked life out of both of them. How they _both_ were miserable, not just her alone for she could tell Genie hadn't been happy either, not for quite some time. Once they'd been like a perfect pair of gloves, ready to take on any shiny challenge thrown their way. Now it seemed they were nothing more than two worn out mittens, each forlorn and missing its original pair.

Towards the end of their third year together, she had shown Genie one of her favorite portraits at the National Portrait Gallery, Medallion by Gluck. It depicts the artist herself and her lover Nesta Obermer in a striking pose, Gluck standing sideways in front of Nesta both of them looking regally ahead. "On this day and age of Facebook, this is the quintessential profile picture. Two for the price of one," Genie had chuckled seeing the painting.

Therese had meant to tell her all about the portrait, about her feelings regarding it but after hearing her easy remark she had shut up like a clam. It had been childish of her, but she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that Genie was being harsh and insensitive. Therese had passed an instant judgment and it had been unfair of her. How could Genie have known what the painting meant to her unless she told her? Instead she had stubbornly wanted her to understand its importance without telling about it in so many words.

Therese loved the painting for its grandeur, for its "we two against the world" attitude it seemed to exude. And yet there was a distinct sadness to it - Gluck's somber expression and Nesta's surprised, straying eyes. There's light on her face but shadow on Gluck's. Lately she had come to think of it as something that had happened to them. Therese realizing a change in the air they shared, Genie staring morosely ahead, neither of them taking time to look at each other. How very proper it had been for her to see the portrait on the cover of a new pocket edition of a book she had read a few years ago. _The Well of Loneliness_ , a real barrel of laughs, she had scoffed amusedly.

* * *

_Co-dependent shit_ , she had called it. The aftermath of such a cruel wording had been predictable. _"You're a cold, heartless bitch."_   So we’re here, Therese had thought suddenly quite calmly, though it had been a very different kind of calmness she usually knew. A dead calm, a bitter chill had blown through her leaving her with only three hard, belittling words to shield herself with. _Not very original_ , she had thought icily though it hadn’t been the first time she had heard it either.

“You’re a cold-hearted bitch”, Richard had said to her when she had packed her things to leave for good. At that time it hadn’t really mattered for nothing with Richard had ever mattered. Therese had let him rescue her from the torrid love she had lost, and her leaving him without a word of explanation had been his ultimate reward.

She had wanted to forget the abruptly ended affair altogether, to put it behind her and not think about it ever again. Richard had come along and he had seemed like a perfectly sensible solution to patch up her bruised ego. _I can do this_ , she had told herself, _this is light, joyful and good – enough._ _I can settle for this_.

Only a moron starts a relationship by telling herself settling is a viable option, Therese had thought later. _A moron or a very young person_. Someone might have said there wasn’t really a difference between those two. She, for one, had been a complete idiot thinking she could slip back to her previous life with boys and men who never got her nor vice versa.

It had been sheer torture even before her first female lover, her being bored out of her mind with her boyfriends and the company they kept. With men she had always been alone – alone in a crowd, alone with the guy she was dating at the moment, but after the first real love it had finally become virtually impossible. It took her an unforgivably long time to realize it with Richard, though. _How could I ever even think of letting a man take me to bed after knowing what it was like to be with a woman?_ she had thought very soon after she had met Richard. The images of desire awakened by another woman’s touch, of her overwhelming softness, of the sheer bliss of knowing how to complement one another in the most intimate way couldn’t be erased away.    

“Be bad, but at least don’t be a liar, a deceiver!” writes Leo Tolstoy in Anna Karenina. Therese had clung to this wisdom desperately, knowing fully well that anyone could find beautifully written lines to justify anything their hearts desired in any given moment.

She became the cold, heartless bitch at the end of their fifth year together. Soon there was to be no co-dependent shit, _nothing_ between the two of them anymore.  

* * *

Therese had the Rothko Room all to herself the following day – and the day after that and the day after that. For a moment she thought about finding out Carol’s address and going to see the street she lived on hoping to catch a sight of her. _I’m not going to do that_ , she denied herself, _I’m not that desperate_.

Two days later she knocked on Abigail Gerhard’s office door determined to trick her into giving her the address under some false pretense. Miss Gerhard was sitting at her desk, typing enthusiastically on her laptop. Therese could feel her courage wither away like a whiff of smoke.

“Therese… what brings you here?” she asked. Therese didn’t know what to say but luckily she didn’t have to. Miss Gerhard was way ahead of her. “I’m glad you came by since I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Therese was grateful for the interruption. “We’ve planned a guided trip to Paris, a long weekend of museums, galleries, you name it, and we’ve offered this unique chance to some of our most treasured sponsors.” Miss Gerhard smiled somewhat apologetically before continuing. “It is a drag in many ways, I know, most of the attendees are usually more interested in shopping… but it is what we do from time to time and it pays off, eventually.” Therese was curious to know what this had to do with her. “So I’ve been meaning to ask if you would like to escort the next group as Tate Modern’s guide and representative? It is a lot of work, I’ll admit that, but it would pay well.”

Therese knew exactly how tremendously gruesome it could get with a bunch of spoiled posh Londoners thrown at her mercy. But she could also use the money, in fact she needed it badly. “Okay, I guess, if you think I’m up to it?” she asked cautiously. “Can’t think of anyone more suitable for the job – if you’re able to go, that is?” Miss Gerhard was referring to the incident in the hospital. “Yes, I can go,” Therese volunteered knowing her presence wasn’t presently called for anywhere near Genie’s convalescence. The trip would take place already at the end of next week, and all necessary arrangements had been made, Miss Gerhard informed her. She would only have to show up and take her lead from there.

Therese spent the following days refreshing everything she knew about the museums they’d visit in Paris, Louvre, Musée d’Orsay and Musée Rodin being the first ones she would guide the group through. It was a lot to digest in a matter of days but she didn’t mind, it kept her mind occupied and away from the fact that she had never got around to ask for Carol’s address.

* * *

Early Thursday morning she made her way to Tate Modern carrying her suitcase along, ready to embark on a journey she was certain she wouldn’t enjoy one iota. It was very much like her to approach the matter with a sullen attitude for it left her a chance to be positively surprised if something, anything, should go right for a change.

The minibus taking them to Heathrow airport was already waiting. Therese was surprised to find it quite empty. She went to talk to the driver. “Is everything okay?” she asked him her tone somewhat upset. Therese was counting on this trip, counting on the money she’d get out of it. “Suppose so”, the driver said taking a drag out his cigarette, “though I can’t understand all the fuss about just one passenger… couldn’t you have just taken a cab or something?” Therese wasn't paying attention to him anymore. _One passenger?_ She took another peek inside the minibus.

Her heart stopped. _Could it be..? Yes._ Mrs. Carol Aird was sitting in the back row, clearly enjoying her cigarette. Noticing Therese, her lips curved into an enticing smile. “Hello,” she greeted in her customary fashion. There was joyful lightness in the way she said it. “Hello,” Therese hastened to answer flustered by her abrupt gaiety.

“I guess it’s just the two of us then”, Carol noted measuring Therese from head to toe. “Do you mind?” she inquired suddenly worried Carol would some how be displeased by the turn of events. “Hell no!” she retorted and her swearing brought a wide grin on Therese's face. “Do you do these things a lot? Take part in guided tours?” she couldn’t help asking. “Never. This is my very first time.” Carol winked at her. “I thought this might just be the thing to give me pleasure.”


	6. Aphrodite

In Louvre, they lingered by the _Venus de Milo_ , _The Aphrodite of Melos_. It wasn’t of course the most inspired stop of their tour but Carol thought it necessary. “There are works one needs to see again and again just to stay honest,” she joked. “I always find it funny that the sculptor commissioned to do the statue actually studied virgins and combined their features in it.” Carol scoffed. “Why is it funny?” Therese asked. “Since it’s rather silly considering there isn’t anything particularly virginal about Aphrodite – she won the apple of Paris because she was the sexy one.” She examined the impressive marble figure in closer detail.

“Paris, the mere mortal, was given the task to choose the most beautiful of three goddesses, Hera, Athena and Aphrodite.” Therese listened to her with growing interest. “Hera, the wife of Zeus and the goddess of marital fidelity, was in fact the best looking but she wasn’t shrewd enough to win him over. Then again, Athena was way too wise to flaunt any of her “womanly weaknesses”. Didn't want to resort to such foolish ways.” Carol looked at her meaningfully. “But Aphrodite, the goddess of sexuality, took easily the first prize.”

Therese had never found Venus de Milo particularly attractive. She did of course understand its merits but watching Carol stand next to it, she could swear Aphrodite was shrinking in comparison. The virginal features of statue’s face _were_ boring, she could see it now. _Glorified inexperience is a bore_ , she thought preferring to steal yet another glimpse of her companion’s sensuous substance. Her eyes wandered to Carol's breasts and finally she had to force herself to turn her gaze away.

Something about Carol’s quirky demeanor made Therese go weak in the knees. She could never tell what she was about to say next, and it made her nervous and tremendously excited at the same time. _You and you alone are worthy of the apple of Paris_ , Therese thought breathlessly surprised by her own epiphany. It had been such a long time since she’d felt anything similar, she wasn’t at all sure she even liked it – the uncertainty of every move she made on this slippery slope towards Carol. For she was sure she was getting to know her better now, she told herself. _Why is it then I feel I’m just floundering, teetering towards her like a child who is taking her first steps?_ Therese didn’t like it; she didn’t enjoy her puzzling incertitude at all.    

After a few more stops Carol stepped outside to enjoy a cigarette. Masses of tourists were huddled together in the yard trying to find the next location in their Da Vinci Code trail.  “Want one?” she offered handing her pack of smokes to Therese. She could feel Carol’s cool fingertips brush hers as she did so. _The effects of nicotine_ , Therese thought, wishing she could warm her cold hands right there and then.    

“People…” Therese started. “…coming here just because of some silly bestseller spinning a ludicrous yarn.” Carol smiled at her patronizingly. “Isn’t it good they come here because of it than stay away altogether?” Her tone was admonishing. “They get to see all the paintings by Leonardo, Caravaggio, Ingres and Delacroix… some of it may rub on, make them want to see and know more.” Therese nodded sheepishly. “I suppose you’re right. I haven’t thought of it that way.” Carol cast an impish look at her. “Well now you have.” Looking determined, she dumped her cigarette. “Let’s have lunch. I know a perfect little bistro which serves decent food and even better cocktails.” She laid her hand on the small of Therese’s back for just a tiniest moment. “A little afternoon buzz couldn’t hurt?”    

* * *

The place Carol had decided upon was nowhere near Louvre. After all, the museum’s immediate neighborhood was filled with restaurants that were hardly mediocre at best, overpriced and overcrowded with fumbling foreigners spelling the uninspired menus with the help of their pocket dictionaries.

Carol took them to Montmartre, quite close to Sacré-Cœur, instead. Therese loved the place immediately, the airy, glass-walled atmosphere of the quaint little bistro basking in afternoon sun. _She looks absolutely ravishing_ , Therese thought looking at Carol reading the laminated menu. Her blonde locks perfectly coiffed and yet somehow relaxed on both sides of her luminous face, she took her time deciding her order. “Let’s start with some oysters, shall we? _Les huîtres fine de claire, s’il vous plait…_ “ Therese didn’t mind Carol deciding for the both of them. _“…et les Crevettes roses pour deux, merci.”_

The waiter brought their aperitifs – two perfectly stirred dry martinis – and Carol raised her glass to a toast. “Here’s to our Paris adventure…” Her eyes radiated warmth Therese had never seen before and she felt tipsy even before tasting her strong concoction.

\--

Two cocktails and half a bottle of ridiculously expensive Chablis later Therese realized she had told Carol all about Genie’s suicide attempt. She hadn’t said anything about their relationship, just that she felt guilty and responsible _in some way_. _How marvelously vague can one get?_   she scolded herself. Waiting for her response, she felt embarrassed, to say the least.  

“So did you cheat on her or what?” Carol asked her lighting a cigarette. Restaurant’s no smoking policy didn’t seem to affect her nor did anyone expect her to adhere to it either. Therese stared at her not believing what she had just said. “Yes”, she admitted quietly. “But it wasn’t the reason for it, now was it?” Carol looked at her straight in the eyes. And then, as if knowing to be the only one with the right answer for her own inquiry, she continued. “It never is. It’s not like we act so straight forwardly on outer impulses.” She took a drag of her smoke. “We may guilt trip other people and trap them in their bad consciences, but eventually it’s just a sham, a smokescreen really”, Carol said blowing a thick ring into air. Therese watched how it wafted away between their very eyes.  

“She still loves you?” Carol asked not really expecting her to deny it. “I suppose so,” Therese replied. “And how do you feel?” she asked playfully quirking her right eyebrow. “I feel… compassion,” Therese started helplessly. “Ouch…” Carol grimaced suddenly. “What?” she hastened to know. “She’s in love with you and you feel compassion.” Blonde face had a knowing smile. “But then again, love never ends at the same time.” Her tone was sad and wistful. “She’s a poor thing, but she’ll pull through. I don’t blame her, you being such an attractive and bright individual…” _What?_   Nonplussed, Therese looked at Carol who was waving at their waiter. _“Les desserts, s’il vous plait... Merci…”_

* * *

Carol insisted on paying for everything. “Why would I let you spend all your money on food and drink when I have so much more of it?” She knotted her brow. “If this is some silly pride thing, do away with it right now because I’m not going to have this conversation again.” Carol was impatient, almost angry with her. “I get so rarely a real opportunity to indulge anyone so please grant me this”, she added in a softer tone. “And how much fun would we even have if we were to start counting your euros every time we’d get a whim to do something _seriously delicious_?” There was no way Therese would ever miss such a chance. “Okay then.” Her shy smile seemed to please Carol who had yet another grand idea. “And _now_   we’ll go shopping…”

Carol wanted Therese to look her best, she told her. “If it pleases you, you can just think of me buying you clothes and makeup as a modern version of _Pygmalion”,_ she laughed good-naturedly. “Oh yeah? Modern version of which – the Greek myth, Shaw’s play or My Fair Lady?” It was Therese’s turn to chuckle. “Now, darling, it’s not like you’re made of stone, so it can’t very well be the myth, now can it?” Her voice was sheer honey. _Darling_. It made Therese’s heart beat faster. “So you’ll have to take your pick between George Bernard Shaw and the musical – how’s your singing by the way?” The corners of Carol’s eyes crinkled of amusement.      

Therese had to admit indulging was something Carol was _very_ good at. Not only did she pay for refreshments and wardrobe, she had tweaked their hotel booking as well. Instead of staying at Saint-Germain-des-Prés, she had booked them two adjoining rooms at the fancy _Pavillon De La Reine_ near Place des Vosges in Marais district. _La reine, the queen…_ Standing on the balcony of her room, Carol looked very majestic indeed, Therese noted.

Therese had never in her life seen such splendor but she took to enjoying it like duck to water. “You look like you’re having a good time?” Carol had noticed it as well. “I am, very much.” Therese’s inner smile was shining through. “Why don’t we have a drink in my room before dinner? Maybe even an _apéro_ as they say in here?” Carol’s interest in all things gourmand didn’t cease to amaze Therese. “Don’t mind if we do,” she replied rather coyly.  


	7. Flaming Green Fairy

“Would you like to sample something quite out of the ordinary?” Carol’s question seemed to carry a whole set of meanings Therese hadn’t quite expected. “Sure. What have you got in your mind?” She tried to sound as light about it as possible. “Here. This could have been named after you”, Carol said putting a glass and a slotted spoon on the table next to Therese. “Really? What’s its name then?” she smiled curiously. “The Flaming Green Fairy,” Carol laughed, “because of your emerald green eyes…” she added winking at her.

Carol put the spoon over the glass containing a shot of absinthe and then placed a sugar cube on the spoon. “I have soaked the sugar in alcohol and now I’ll set it ablaze…” she explained slowly. Therese watched the flaming cube drop inside the glass. She was acutely aware of her own growing agitation as if she herself were clinging to the sides of the glass afraid to fall into its flaming abyss. “And now I’ll add some water to douse the flames…” Carol’s moves were calculated, exact. “There…” she offered the drink to Therese. “…a potion fit for a heroine.” Her eyes searched Therese keenly.

The strong drink burned Therese’s mouth magnificently. “You have now officially joined the ranks of such notables as Charles Baudelaire, Oscar Wilde, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud… not to mention our very own literary geniuses Ernest Hemingway and Edgar Allan Poe.” Carol raised her own glass in quiet salutation. “This is indeed a very stiff one”, Therese managed to say. Flustered, she felt the liquor make her tingle all over – if it was the liquor at all. “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t like it. I wouldn’t want you to lose your faculties this early in the evening”, Carol smirked. “I just thought it would be interesting for you to get a taste of something completely different for a change.”

* * *

By the time they were ready to leave for the restaurant, Therese was certain she had had too much to drink already. “Finished your glass?” Carol asked kindly. “Good girl…” She placed her hand gently on Therese’s waist and ushered her out of the room. Her breath quickening, Therese focused on her feet trying to make them move forward but the floor beneath them appeared to wobble, to give away at each step.

\--

“We’ll start with the foie gras, and then the steak tartare…” Carol informed the waiter. “And bring me a glass of champagne but just a carafe of water for her – _une coupe de Champagne pour moi et une carafe d’eau pour elle, s’il vous plait._ ” She shot a quick glance at Therese. “I think you’ve had enough for now. I’ll let you have more when I think you can handle it again.” An inscrutable smile lingered on Carol’s face and it aggravated Therese. _She thinks I’m a child_ , she thought angrily. The absinthe was playing tricks on her mind, but still she didn’t want Carol to decide for her.          

“Tell me more about your _friend_ as you so poignantly put it at first,” Carol teased when their entrees had arrived. “Well, what can I say… we were together for five years, some of it good, some of it outright awful”, Therese explained not wanting to stress the better parts of their relationship. “Five years…” Carol mused, “...not a bad mileage for two very young people getting to know each other.” _There it was again – young people_. “Does it really matter how old a person is?” Therese asked unable to hide the apparent displeasure in her voice. “Not necessarily but you’ll have to admit you were terribly young – what, 22? – when you started your affair.” Carol’s tone was reconciliatory. “I think it’s only natural that relationships starting so early on won’t last forever…” she added, “…if they last at all, at any age, I mean.” The hint of cynicism didn’t go unnoticed. “You sound very disillusioned as far as relationships are concerned?” Therese asked in return. “I have every right to be”, Carol replied dryly. “It’s not like I’ve been having much success in any of mine.” She took a bite of her foie gras. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

Therese stumbled on words not knowing which ones to pick for her next question. She didn’t have to, though, for Carol was willing to continue. “What I gather from the little information you’re willing to part with is that you had a tempestuous time together, both in good and bad.” Therese waited for her to go on. “I’d take that in a heartbeat, anything but the never ending limbo of indifference between two ill-suited people.” Carol looked at her tenderly. “I’d take the fighting, the sheer hell of it, instead of the mere morose suffering, the feeling of not having any options open anymore.”

Distressed, Therese set her hand on Carol’s without really realizing it at first. Carol seemed to awaken from her sudden stupor. She looked surprised. “Surely there are always options?” Therese asked reluctantly pulling her hand away. “Of course but it’s always so much more difficult when there are children involved,” Carol specified. “But it is also a form of self-deceit to think a child could fix or even sooth things in one’s relationship.” Therese stared at Carol eager to have her finish her thought. “Children are conservative by nature, they want things to remain just as they are, and in some ways parents are always up to a surprise with their offspring.” Carol finished her plate.

“How do you mean?” Therese pried. “A child is not a _tabula rasa_ by birth, don’t ever make that mistake. They are born with their own set of characteristics, personality traits which may or may not suit you.” Therese wondered if Carol was indeed talking about her own child and if so, was it about her displeasure of seeing what kind of person was emerging out of her? “I love my child more than anything in this world and I’d give my life for her if such a thing were required of me but sometimes…” Carol seemed to drift far away. “Sometimes what..?” Therese wanted to know. The waiter brought their main course – a plate full of raw meat with an equally raw egg yolk on top of it.

“Sometimes she reminds me of Harge so much it hurts.” She stuck her fork into the runny yolk. “Harge is your husband?” Therese asked discreetly. “Yes.” They ate in silence for a long time.

\--

“Let me pour you some wine,” Carol offered smiling again. The high-end Rhône red complimented the steak’s lush and delicious taste perfectly. Therese wanted to continue their earlier conversation but she didn’t quite know how. Carol seemed to be in a better mood now and she worried her questions might tip the balance once more. “There are things I wish to ask you but I don’t know if you want me to”, she started hesitantly. Pursing her lips, Carol leaned towards her propping her chin on her knuckles. “Ask me things…” Her eyes flickered mischievously.

“Your divorce… you mentioned it earlier…” Therese feared her question was out of line. “What about it?” Carol retained her earlier posture. “How… how is it going?” Therese managed to say. Carol smiled self-deprecatingly. “We’re getting there, I suppose, slowly but eventually.” She seemed unfazed by the question. “But as I said, it’s not easy. It never is and with a daughter unwilling to come to terms with the idea it’s even more difficult.” Carol took out her cigarettes. “Sometimes I think she and Harge have ganged up on me to get me to give it up altogether.” She let out a sad laugh. “Well, that’s that. Let’s not dwell on it any longer.”

* * *

They walked leisurely back to the hotel. The air was crisp and the lights of the tourist boats on the Seine, _The Vedettes du Pont Neuf_ ,  cast their glimmer on the riverbanks. Carol amused Therese with stories of her previous trips to Paris, and every once in a while she felt her arm brush against hers quite accidentally as if the deepening dark had decided to nudge them closer each other. It was a perfect evening, Therese decided, something she would always remember.  
  
They walked across the lobby of their hotel all the way to the elevator. Standing on opposite sides of the booth Therese was once again overwhelmed by Carol’s effortless charm, the way her hand combed back her fair hair, the curve of her waist accentuated by the perfectly tailored slacks. When Carol smiled at her she felt deliriously happy yet so unprepared for such loveliness she had to turn her gaze away for just a second to gather her wits.

Approaching their rooms, Therese could sense the air between them thicken, the walls of the narrow corridor closing in on her. The door of her room came first, just a few feet before Carol’s. Her key pressed in the palm of her hand she just remained standing there, watching Carol as she searched for the plastic card hidden in her handbag.

Carol turned around slowly conscious of her continuous stare. “Therese…” she started her voice unsteady, seemingly unsure what to say. Therese bowed her head not liking Carol’s tone at all. “It’s alright”, she muttered under her breath and fumbled the key card into the slot. The green light refused to go on no matter how stubbornly she pushed it in. Three quick steps and Carol was by her side holding her frustrated hand which couldn’t even open the damn room door.

She leaned in to help her and as she did, the languid, blonde tresses brushed lightly Therese’s right temple. The light went on. She expected Carol to retreat to her own door but instead their heads touched gently each other. Feeling her pulse quicken, Therese closed her eyes. Cool fingers caressed her cheek softly for a fleeting moment.

“Good night, Therese. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Three long days…”


	8. Gates of Hell

Therese got up very early the next morning. To be honest, she hadn't slept very well at all and when she got up, she was in a rather bad mood. It was too early to have breakfast in the hotel, too early for anything, but Therese needed to do something other than stare at the locked door between her and Carol's adjoining rooms. 

After taking a shower she decided to go for a walk. Before leaving she texted Carol a message.

>   **Will skip breakfast. Meet u @ lobby @ 9 for d'Orsay**

After all, that's what they were here for – to catch up on the exhibitions. And that's what Tate Modern was paying her for and she was indeed a true professional. Determined, she grabbed her coat and bag and exited the hotel. No one seemed to be awake at this ungodly hour and it suited her just fine.

The streets of Marais were empty with only street cleaners at their work. She needed badly her caffeine fix but knew she'd have to wait for at least another hour to get it. Paris was only just opening its eyes, yawning, getting ready for yet another Friday, a work day and a promise of two days of leisure for the city folks.

For Therese it spelled no such thing. She was here to fulfill her obligation and she would make damn sure Abigail Gerhard would sing her praises after the week was over. It was not her fault there was only a one passenger aboard on this trip and Miss Gerhard must have known it too. It was however no reason for her to get slack at her work. Mrs Aird would get her money's worth on her pleasure trip, she decided ignoring the bitter sentiment accompanying the thought.

* * *

This wasn't her first trip to Paris, far from it. She had come here by herself a couple of times just to see the museums, to get a feel of the city everybody was raving about, to breathe in the history and culture so vibrant everywhere. She had also visited it with Richard when they had still been a couple.

The trip hadn't been very successful. They had stayed in a small, noisy hostel near Bastille, and kept on going with very little sleep and mediocre street food - baguettes and crêpes mostly. "Why do you always have to be so critical, Terry?" Richard had asked repeatedly. "We may not have a lot of money but this is how the American Moderns did it – on a shoestring, really!" Richard had been right, of course, but it wasn't the lack of funds she complained about, that was just a way to hide her real disappointment. She wasn't having a good time with Richard. 

" _Joie de vivre_ , Terry, let's live a little – with the little we have!" He had laughed at his own joke but Therese hadn't found his quip funny at all. It was exactly "the little they had" which bothered her the most. Thank god their dorm room had been crowded with other people as well – at least it had saved her from his amorous advances which had been getting on her nerves for quite some time. Still she had felt guilty about seeing Richard try so hard to humor him in any clumsy way he could possibly have thought of. _I am a terrible person who can't appreciate a perfectly decent person_ , she had thought regret taking over her. 

Paris is said to be the city of lovers, and the fact she had been there with a person she didn't love had only seemed to confirm the cliché. It had rained the entire time they were there, but had she been visiting it with someone else, she was sure it wouldn't have mattered one bit.

Richard had saved money for a special night out. On their last night he had wanted to treat her to a nice dinner “the French way”. "We'll do it like the natives... the works, everything." He had been very excited about it. Once they'd gotten to the restaurant of his choice – an unassuming neighborhood bistro – he had grown all nervous and self-conscious all of a sudden. A wave of trepidation had swept through Therese. Richard was up to something and she needed to stop him before it was too late.

"Richard..." she had started apprehensively. "Yes, honey?" He had replied his voice filled with tenderness the meaning of which hadn't yet dawned on her in its horrifying entirety. "I've been thinking..." she had continued trying to find the right words. "Well, isn't that swell since I've been also..." he had interrupted joyously. _"Richard!"_ He had cut his sentence short. There had been no other way than to be blunt about it. "I think we need to take some time apart once we get back home..." she had said calmly.

Richard had stared at her in disbelief. She had knocked him out with one of the most obnoxious euphemisms for an imminent break-up. "What are you saying, Terry?" He had managed to ask her after a stunned silence. "Are you breaking up with me or what?" Why couldn't she have just said it right there and then? Because they had to travel back home together the next day? Surely she didn't think they could have still had a go at it? Instead she had conformed to yet another lame excuse. "No... it's just there's so much coming up in the next few months..." _Yeah, right._ "Study wise, that is, and I need to find out about the Tate job, if they'd consider me for it. I really can't be distracted now, you know?" _What a bunch of crap_.

Therese shuddered remembering the incident which had only postponed the inevitable. At least she had blocked him from saying something he would have felt really foolish about later on, she consoled herself. That should count as something?

A small café was unrolling its awnings and Therese used the few French words she could muster up to get a café creme and a croissant. There were a lot more people around now, on their way to work with their rucksacks and laptop cases, looking self-important and busy. She was grateful for this private moment. She was even grateful for the quick detour down the memory lane since it seemed to sober her up from last night.

* * *

At five to ten she was at the lobby waiting for Carol. She breezed in ten minutes behind the schedule. "Good morning", Carol greeted her absentmindedly. The gray eyes looked tired, dull even, Therese thought. "You ready to go?" Therese asked sounding a bit too perky for her own good. Putting her shades on, Carol just nodded.

They arrived at the former Gare d'Orsay right on time. Miss Gerhard had arranged for them to get in without having to wait in line with the rest of the tourists which Therese greatly appreciated seeing the queues forming in front of the establishment. Therese loved d'Orsay for its impressionist and post-impressionist collection, the largest in the world. She was ready to flaunt her impeccable knowledge of the subject.

Carol hadn't said more than a few words on their way to the museum which suited Therese fine. Once inside, she was determined to introduce each and every highlight the exquisite museum had to offer. 

Georges Seurat was one of Therese's favorites. Seurat, a divisionist, believed that color could be used to create harmony and emotion in art the same way a musician uses counterpoint and variation to create harmony in music. Although she herself had no real wish to approach art scientifically like the late 19th century painter had, she was drawn to his paintings, to the optical challenge they presented. 

They stopped by _Poseuse de dos_ , Model from the back. Delicately observed in minute detail, the woman in the picture sits closed and mute. "Seurat believed art is harmony, an analogy of the contrary and of similar elements of tone, of color and of line,” Therese started. “Basically it disposes lighter tones against the darker ones, but he didn't just leave it there, he studied complementary color pairings, red-green, orange-blue and so on..." She was mesmerized by the pale, pink hue of the model’s skin perfectly contrasted by the dark, dotted background.

Carol didn't seem particularly impressed. "I find it far too gimmicky and rather soulless," she commented dryly. "Whenever one has such an idée fixe, one tends to lose the real thought, the human justification behind it." She cast a bored glance at the painting. "No wonder Monet, Renoir and rest of the Impressionist gang refused to exhibit with him..." She moved towards the room where the masters she had just named awaited.

Therese was stunned by her abrupt judgment. It felt like a slap on the face. Peeved, she followed Carol who stood by _Bal du moulin de la Galette_ , Dance at Le moulin de la Galette, by Auguste Renoir.  “This is one of my favorites,” Carol acknowledged, “albeit an obvious one. But it’s not called a masterpiece for nothing.” Therese looked at the exquisite painting depicting a lovely Sunday afternoon in Montmartre. A typically impressionist snapshot of real life, it celebrates the joy of working class Parisians at leisure. Therese marveled the richness of Renoir’s vision, the enviable ease of his fluid brush strokes which lit the scene with flickering light. She held back her praise, though.

“I prefer Toulouse-Lautrec’s take on the same subject. It’s darker and more intimate in its approach,” Therese said sounding slightly condescending. “Compared to him, Renoir is much too obsessed with recreating the entire scene. It makes it rather staged in my opinion.” Carol turned to face her but refrained from saying anything. Her eyes were alert, live again.

“How about this one?” Carol had stopped by Édouard Manet’s _Olympia_. Therese adored the picture of the nude prostitute, modelled by Victorine Meurent, gazing so confrontationally at the viewer. “I absolutely love it,” she admitted, “I can only imagine the shock it stirred when it was first exhibited. All the details pointing to her true profession – the hair, the bracelet, the earrings, the brazen sensuality…” Therese cast a quick glance at Carol, “a portrait of an independent woman who’s in command of her own body – for money, of course.” She was suddenly very pleased with herself.

“So glad you approve,” Carol replied somewhat callously. “She’s a young girl, not your typical demimondaine of her time – an exceptionally thin girl which quality, by the way, Charles Baudelaire found utterly indecent.” She clicked her tongue and turned away once again. “I’m a bit peckish. Maybe we should head for some light snack after we’re done?” Confused, Therese nodded her approval.                

* * *

Their lunch was nothing like the day before. Carol wasn’t in the mood to travel to the other side of the city just for a quick bite to eat so they settled for a neighborhood bistro. The food wasn’t particularly inspired but it served its purpose.

“What’s next?” Carol asked wiping her mouth with a napkin. She seemed to look right through Therese. “I thought we might squeeze in a visit to Musée Rodin as well if you feel up to it?” she replied meekly. “So The Gates of Hell it is, then?” Carol concluded referring to Auguste Rodin’s famous bronze doors. “I’m up to it if you are.”  


	9. Damned Women

Musée Rodin bathed in bright sunlight when they stepped out of the taxi.  An extensive garden displaying many of the artist’s famous sculptures surrounded the distinguished looking stone building. Therese excused herself to the ladies’ room. “Take your time”, Carol said, “It’s not like I need anyone to hold my hand in here.” Not waiting a response, she headed towards the first exhibition room.

 _Now, breathe…_ Therese told herself splashing her face with cold water. _What’s gone into me?_   She wasn’t happy about the way the day was starting out, and she knew she herself was to blame for it. What on earth had given her the bright idea to read so much into Carol’s kindness and generosity that she had expected her to kiss her at the end of the day? _Such arrogance on my part_.

Still, she did usually have a very good sense about these things. At least she had been accurate most of the times in the past. But now she was obviously pining after a straight woman for as far as she knew there was nothing telling her otherwise, nothing _concrete_ anyway. Carol was a wife and a mother, a very attractive woman in the most feminine way. The mere idea of her gorgeousness was enough to throw Therese off balance. _I really need to get laid, that’s all_ , she sighed at her reflection in the mirror.

* * *

“This is not working for me anymore”, her first female lover had said to her. It had taken time for Therese to understand what she really meant. “This has nothing to do with you,” she had told her, “but it has everything to do with me.” The young woman had had a pained expression on her face. “I mean I’ve seriously started to rethink the choices I’ve made… Such a big part of me wants to have an _ordinary_ life, a far less complicated than the one I’ve been leading.” Up till now she had avoided Therese’s gaze. “I guess life is too difficult even without the extra burden of taking the ‘road less traveled’”, she had said letting out a sad, little laugh. “And I think I actually do want to have a husband and a family one day.” The news had had a shattering effect on Therese. “What I’m saying is I want to keep my options open and it’s just not going to happen if I remain in this relationship.”

 _How could I compete with that?_   Therese had thought choking back the inevitable tears. If her lover had come to the end of her _phase_ , who was she to prevent her from closing this chapter in her life? “I hope we can still be friends. I really do care for you, Therese.” The word had stung her bitterly – the compassionate _care_.   

Therese hadn’t liked what she had heard but she had felt compelled to accept it like one accepts a terminal illness. Not without the five stages of grief, though. At first she had been in denial of the whole thing: after everything we’ve shared, this can’t be happening to me. Then she had felt angry: why had she lured me into this if she was only going to leave me in the end? Bargaining had been a bitch: if only I had seen this coming, I could have met her half way and made sure she realized I could also give her everything her heart desired. That it needn’t be difficult. When the depression had sunk in Therese had been certain she would never ever have sex with another woman again for she had been the only one for her. How _awful_   her life would be after her.

Once she had finally accepted it as a fact she couldn’t escape, something she couldn’t possibly challenge, the real blow came. Therese had promised Dannie they would go out on a Saturday night, to blow away the cobwebs of her sorry self, as he had put it. They had ended up in a gay club having a mixed night for both men and women. There it was for both Therese and the rest of the party people to see – her former lover once more taking the ‘road less traveled’. Watching her probe some woman’s tonsils with her eager tongue, Therese had felt nauseous to say the least. She hadn’t known such humiliation even existed.

Dannie had tried to console her any way he could. “Well, maybe she _is_ bisexual. Maybe she did mean it at the time.” His cheering up had had little effect on Therese. “Can you imagine what it must be like for bisexuals? To have this buffet table of sex, this overwhelming abundance of choices around you all the time?” Dannie had laughed. “I’m glad you and I know what we want and who we want it with. I’d die if I’d have to be checking out women as well!” But Therese hadn’t quite accepted what Dannie had suggested, and all this confusion had led her to the disaster now known as Richard.

* * *

Carol was standing in front of the _Femmes damnées_ , Damned Women, depicting lesbian passion. _Ooo-kay…_ Therese thought joining her discreetly. The early version of the one on the right pilaster of _The Gates of Hell_   had two women in a rather acrobatic embrace. After a while they looked at each other not saying a word. _Say something, you damn fool,_ Therese scolded herself. “Ehm… did you know Rodin was kind of obsessed with _damned_ women?” she asked just to stay on the subject. “In fact I did”, Carol responded taking another look at the insatiable couple. “He was really into Baudelaire, inspired by _Fleurs du mal_ …” she went on. “Quite a pose, don’t you think?” Therese nodded her dimples deepening. “Doesn’t look too comfortable.” Hearing her quip, Carol cast a quick glance at her. Therese thought she saw a smile form on Carol’s lips but wasn’t too sure about it. It could have been wishful thinking.

“You remind me of her”, Carol commented when they were marveling the works of Camille Claudel, Rodin’s pupil and one time lover. “I think you share a certain fierceness of character, a somewhat sullen outlook on life”, she elaborated. Therese wasn’t sure she liked what she was hearing. “In that case it doesn’t promise much good for me”, she attempted in a light-hearted tone. “She had quite a temper, violent and eccentric. And she did go mad in the end.” Carol was having none of it. “Now that was rather an oversimplification on your part, wasn’t it? The art history is full of ill-tempered, violent men whose behavior was nothing short of insane but no one judges them quite so quickly.” Hearing her rebuke, Therese stiffened.

“In many ways, Claudel was a victim of her time not being recognized by the patriarchal establishment as the extraordinary artist she was.” Carol continued. “It was her family, mostly her dear brother, who committed her into an asylum against her will for thirty years. Even the hospital personnel recommended her release but no, they let her die in there instead.”

Therese was embarrassed but also irritated. She had been wrong to make light of the matter but she had also just wanted to lighten their rapport which had taken such an ugly turn that morning. “Well, I suppose I was too quick to make a joke of it… being too young and all. I do know what you’re saying and I think what happened to Camille was a travesty of the worst kind.” Therese could feel the bad mood returning clouding her thoughts. She didn’t look at Carol though she knew she was looking at her.

“I adore _Les Causeuses_ , The Gossips,” Therese said gesturing towards the delicate composition, “and I can’t even begin to understand the painstaking process to make something this unique out of such impossible materials as onyx marble.” She was all professional again her voice as cool and level as ever. “And this one, _La Vague_ , The Wave, is for me the culmination of her virtuosity. She’s finally stepping out of Rodin’s shadow and creating something uniquely hers – the wave of destiny she felt in her bones and in her work so vividly ready to overpower the bathers…” Therese took a closer look at the piece. “Just look at the colors, the exquisite green contrasted with the bronze.” She was enthralled by what she witnessed. “Yes, I can see it,” Carol replied quietly but she wasn’t looking at the work, she was looking at Therese.

* * *

“The lunch we had was quite a disappointment, don’t you think?” Carol said after they had left the museum. “How about we have a drink before returning to the hotel? We could decide on where to have dinner while relaxing a bit.” Her eyes radiated warmth, a curious eagerness to smooth things over between them. “Sounds good”, Therese approved trying to sound casual about it.  

Carol wanted them to go to the Le Fumoir, a cozy restaurant-bar near the Louvre on Rue de l'Amiral de Coligny. Therese loved the place immediately for its discreet, intimate chic with dark leather and smooth lacquer. Any place with bookcases lining the walls was her idea of heaven, she told Carol. “I’m glad,” Carol laughed, “it was worth making the trip here then.”

They ordered martinis since Carol said they were particularly good and a plate of appetizers. Lounging on a lush armchair Therese realized she was quite exhausted by their active day and the strong cocktail wasn’t actually helping. Had she been with anyone else, she would have suggested calling the rest of the evening off for some alone time in her hotel room.

“What do you say we sample a bit more of that seafood we had yesterday afternoon?” Carol took a bite of her spiced bread with sherry-marinated herring. “You have something… yeah, right there.” Therese couldn’t help noticing a crumb of bread on the corner of Carol’s mouth. Smiling, Carol wiped the sticky residue away. “I’m all for it”, Therese replied a bit too greedily.

“Would you then mind wearing the green Louis Vuitton dress we bought yesterday?” Carol asked, her eyes fixed on hers. Flustered, Therese had to turn her gaze away. “No, I mean, of course I’ll wear it, if you like…” Then, mustering up all her courage she continued, “…and since we’re making requests, would you wear the black pants suit, Armani, was it?” She couldn’t believe she had just said that.   

“Of course, darling”, Carol nodded running her fingers through her blonde hair and as she did so Therese caught a whiff of her dusky perfume. They stayed at the bar for a long time, ordered another round of cocktails, but Therese wasn’t really sure what they were talking about. All of it seemed to take on a wonderfully trivial level as if the spoken words were merely joyfully bumping into one another, filling the articulate space of their otherwise muted exchange.  

* * *

Back at the hotel Therese got ready for the evening after a useless attempt at napping. Undressing and putting on the Vuitton, she was elated by Carol’s request for it made her feel everything was possible once more. Yet when she tried to think what it exactly was she hoped to come to fruition she couldn’t quite get a hold of it. It seemed to elude her, mock her sudden, inexplicable desperation. _Everything is possible and utterly ridiculous at the same time_. The fabric of the garment felt plush on her skin, softer than anything she had ever worn and the sensation it stirred within her made her both giddy and tense.           


	10. Heartquake

The restaurant Carol had picked specialized in seafood. It was located at the seventh arrondissement offering an almost clichéd view of the Eiffel Tower. “We’ll have a plateau of everything”, she decided after taking a quick look at the menu. “This way you’ll get the best idea of what it is you like the most.” Therese watched her chatting with their waiter, and she congratulated herself for having been so bold as to suggest the attire Carol was wearing. She was rarely so brave but tonight it had felt only natural. Tonight everything seemed possible, she mused smiling at her lovely companion.

“What are you thinking?” Carol asked catching her glance. “Just that you look very beautiful”, Therese confessed gazing into her curious eyes. The smile Carol gave her was almost derogatory as if she’d expected Therese to come up with something more substantial and original than a mere compliment.

The waiter returned to their table with a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne, and the time it took him to fill their flutes was enough for both of them to recuperate from the awkwardness her straight forwardness had brought about.     

The _plateau de fruits de mer_ was a fabulous feast for the eyes as well as for the palate. The multiple, elaborate tiers of the serving platter contained various oysters in half shell, cooked shrimp, crab, coiled langoustines, steamed mussels, succulent scallops as well as a multitude of clams of all shapes and sizes. Therese couldn’t possible understand how any two people could do away with such amount of food in one sitting but she was happy to see the abundance all the same. After all it meant they wouldn’t be leaving the establishment any time soon.

“Bon appétite”, Carol said winking at Therese. “Start with the oysters, they’ll open up your senses to the more elaborate tastes on display here.” She picked one to show her how it was done. “These are finger food, really. The tiny fork is only for extracting the meat off the shell”, Carol explained. “I urge you to skip the condiments on your first go or maybe just squirt a little bit of lemon on top…” The long, slender fingers pressed the sour juice on the shell. “…but never overwhelm it, you’ll want the taste unmasked… bottoms up!” She slurped the essence right into her mouth. “Umm… the meat and the salty liquid combined are sheer heaven.”

Flustered, Therese reached out for her first oyster. Her hands unsteady, she was afraid to spill its delicate contents on the white table cloth. Taking a deep breath, she mimicked Carol and savored the taste she had so deliciously described. The experience was sensual to say the least. Therese wasn’t sure at first how she liked it but after a while the disarming, provocative taste grew on her, and she was eager to have another go at it. Pleased, Carol smiled at her excitement and took a sip of her Sauvignon blanc. “For some oysters are an acquired taste but I’m glad to see you taking an instant liking... You’re a natural, aren’t you?” she laughed her eyes glinting whimsically.          

* * *

“You have only told me about your ex-girlfriend but is there someone else in your life at the moment?” Carol asked. “No, not at all, I’m single.” The words fell out of Therese’s mouth before she could really think them through. _How terribly clumsy of me_. “I haven’t really had time or interest if you know what I mean…” _This wasn’t much better_. However Carol seemed content with her answer. “I think I do. I bet it’s far too early to think about meeting someone new when still having to sort out the disappointments of the earlier relationship. At least I can relate to that.” The conversation was taking a turn Therese disliked tremendously.

“It is tempting, though, and far too common to form a new attachment right after a previous one. To use it as a band aid to stop the bleeding so to speak. But bleed we must if we’re ever going to put the past behind us…” Carol’s voice drifted away as she opened the crab shell with a claw cracker.  “Are you saying there’s no point in _any_ new relationship if one hasn’t been able to put time and distance between the former and the latter?” Therese was eager to know. “Even if the new one might be the _right_ one?” she added impatiently. _Where did that come from?_

Carol looked at her and a sad little smile lingered on her face. “How would you even know if it were the right or just the _right now_ one?” she replied quietly. “I like the idea William Gibson makes – though he was just referring to jet lag – that if we travel, go forward, too fast, our souls can’t keep up, they are left behind and must be awaited upon arrival like lost luggage.” Her tone was wistful. “It’s the same with relationships, I think. We may not be able to tie all loose ends and arrange our past experiences into tidy, lovable mementos but in time we can certainly figure them out for ourselves and be at peace with them.” A knot in her stomach kept Therese from having another bite of her langoustine. She was quickly losing her interest in food.

“I may be old-fashioned, of course. And I guess there’s nothing wrong with having fun every once in a while – well, I’m not opposed to it either”, Carol continued in a lighter tone. “But I’d make damn sure I’d know it was just that, nothing more.” Therese glanced at her speechlessly. How could it be she was always so unsure of herself with Carol, always uncertain of the next move available for her? She listened to her and yet understood so little aware only of the unsteady ground beneath her feet.  

“Sex is nice, most of the time anyway,” Carol laughed as if she’d just made a hilarious joke. It didn’t quite have that effect on Therese who stared at her in disbelief. “And everything precipitating it.” _Why the hell is she talking about this?_ “Kissing makes our blood vessels dilate, and our brain is flooded with oxygen. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin – all those hormone levels spiking and leaving our bodies awash in a chemical bath unlike anything else,” Carol kept on going, “We are hardwired to find it all so pleasurable and addictive, we don’t really stand a chance.” Therese didn’t enjoy the carefree _technicality_ of her easy explanation.    

“Is that all there is to it?” Therese asked gloomily. Surprised, Carol looked at her. “Of course not, darling.” She paused for a moment. “I’m just making a point you seem to miss altogether.” _Because I’m young and foolish?_ “Having sex and making love –“ Carol winced a little, “are two different things. And it’s not like I’ve had much of the latter, I’m not ashamed to admit it. But I do know it can be the most perfect and absolute thing two women can have – or anyone in love for that matter…” she hastened to add. _Two women!?_ Therese searched for the gray eyes which remained focused on the crème brûlée.  

All this talk made Therese suddenly very thirsty and she boldly suggested they order another bottle of wine. Carol was only too happy to oblige. Downing her glass far too quickly she couldn’t hear what Carol was currently speaking about. _She has been with a woman!_ The realization had hit Therese like a ton of bricks and she tried desperately to ease her excitement with yet another gulp of wine. She was having a marvelous time again, and she didn’t hide her pleasure. Not one bit.  

* * *

The night had fallen softly upon the roofs of the city when they left the restaurant. Therese saw the flickering lights of the Eiffel Tower disappear from sight. Carol sat next to her staring silently out of her side window. _There isn’t anything left to be said_ , Therese thought, and she didn’t mind it at all. She was acutely aware of her, and it was all that mattered.  

Entering the hotel the quietness they shared grew almost discomforting. Therese felt the familiar rush of helplessness, the desperate insistence in her as she had the night before. Walking side by side along the corridor she wanted to slow down, to stop them rushing towards the doors of their separate rooms. But then it was too late, her room coming up all too suddenly, making her fearful she was missing her chance of unexpected happiness.     

Afraid to break the spell, Therese leaned against her door as if the mere act of standing was too taxing for her. Her eyes focusing on Carol's impeccable red lips, she was ready – ready to yield to what she most wished for. She may have had a glass too many, but it brought out the bold and the flirty in her eager waiting. It did not go unnoticed.

They were standing very close, sharing a space so intimate that it couldn’t but thrust them forward to close the gap once and for all. Carol's face nearly touching hers and the soft blonde tresses grazing her forehead, Therese felt the wild tremors her own body was sending along her inflamed nerves. Slowly, with a grave expression, Carol slid her hand around her neck letting Therese inhale the dizzy, swaying air between them.  
  
_We've been bending towards this proximity the entire time_ , she thought before everything articulate and formerly defined blurred to nothingness. The tentative, tiny sips of their lips decided this kiss wasn’t going to remain chaste for long. The consuming, sweet wetness of Carol's mouth mingling with hers was like a terrifying potion Therese readily accepted. Why else would she know such suffocating bliss, throbbing in her throat?  
  
Her lips parting further as the luscious, insistent mouth pressed against hers, Therese clung to Carol as if she were the only solid thing in her constantly turbulent world. And for a brief moment she was, though Therese didn't know if it was a beginning or an end, if it made sense or not, if the unquenchable need in her sprang from a real feeling or from some frivolous figment of her imagination. She wanted the kiss to reveal everything she desired to know, to open or, if need be, to close doors to imaginable futures.  
  
Carol's softness as well as her intoxicating urgency left Therese breathless. Excitement and the promise of its unbridled excess surged wildly through her mind. She responded with all her might growing anxious and impatient for more. The gray eyes flickering, darting dark light, Carol pulled Therese into an embrace which made the rest of the world go dull and meaningless except for the fastening beat of her heart.  
  
And then, even before the heartquake was over, Carol loosened her grip entirely. Her chest heaving she looked at Therese suddenly startled by what she saw.  
  
"What?" Therese whimpered desperately. Taking a few steps back, Carol withdrew her gaze. "I’m sorry… _we_ shouldn’t be doing this…" Her voice sounded steady although _it wasn’t_ but for Therese it was a crushing blow, an ear-shattering disappointment which prevented her from hearing any nuances at all.


	11. Waterloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of days ago I was really struggling with this story uncertain whether I'd be able to finish it at all. Then all of a sudden I happened to hear this song that opened it up to me again and I wrote quite a lot of this particular chapter in one short sitting. It's kind of how I see Therese back in London at this moment of the fic. 
> 
> The song could also be a kind of a moodscape for the entire Waterloo as well - very angsty, melancholic and melodramatic. Do give it a listen and though it belongs first and foremost to Leonard Cohen, you must choose k.d. lang's version since her song has different lyrics for the last two verses I'm focusing on here.
> 
> Here's a Spotify link for k.d.'s heartwrenching Hallelujah: https://open.spotify.com/track/1kz91PzVKwqo6na9LT1JQz

Therese couldn’t sleep. She was furious. And even more than that: sad, devastated and desperate. _We shouldn’t be doing this_. What the fuck does that even _mean?_   she fumed tossing and turning in bed unable to calm herself down.

She had thought about knocking on the adjoining door and demanding an answer, asking Carol the question she had been unable to form in the corridor. She had just stood there dumbfounded and let her leave the scene of _her crime_. For it had been nothing short of criminal, Therese decided, to leave her hanging in midair all her senses adrift, everything about her a fierce mess waiting for an outlet.  

She had nearly done it, almost pounded on the door, when the light in Carol’s room had gone out. The thin strip of light underneath the door had vanished, died down and with it any hope for her to get to the bottom of this, this – _what_? Never in her life had she known such utter _frustration_. Carol could have very well punched her in the stomach instead, it wouldn’t have hurt _this much_ , she was sure of it.

It had been the perfect kiss and she had been the perfect kisser. Their lips had wanted it, they both had wanted it, and it had only promised more not less! They had created an avalanche of desire. A fucking _avalanche_ for crying out loud! She had been mad before but right now she was livid. _How dare she?_   Who the fuck does she think she is? What kind of a _frigid bitch_ stands her up after such a performance? she raved in the privacy of her inflamed thoughts, yet at the same time she already regretted even thinking so.

After another hour went by Therese got up and walked over to the door. She pressed the handle gently not believing for one second the door would crack open. As a matter of fact she was counting on it. To her surprise and horror it did. Carol’s room was dark and only the dim light emanating from Therese’s nightstand cast a weak glow on what was inside.

Therese stood at the foot of Carol’s bed silently watching her sleeping figure. She wasn’t sure how long she remained there, all she knew was her sudden irresistible, almost violent need to slip between the covers and caress her sublime face.  

* * *

Therese woke up feeling sorry for herself which was a sentiment she utterly despised. It was still relatively early though she had slept longer than she had thought possible. Once she had fallen asleep the rest of the night had gone by in dreamless quiescence.

Summoning all her courage she finally walked over to Carol’s door and knocked. No answer. She tried once more. Nothing. She couldn’t hear any movement either, so she decided to go over to the breakfast room. Carol wasn’t there.

When Therese returned to her room she only just then noticed a slip of paper that had been pushed under the door some time earlier, probably when she was still sleeping. Sitting on the small sofa she opened the short note.

>   _Dear Therese,_
> 
> _I am very sorry if I have hurt your feelings. Do believe me when I say I have no wish to do so, quite the contrary._
> 
> _There are things I have to attend to immediately, and I think it is for the best anyway if you were to take this day off._
> 
> _Please forgive me,_
> 
> _Carol_

Therese crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash bin. She was angry as hell, even angrier than the night before. After a while she did go and pick the note up again. _Please forgive me_. She burst into inconsolable tears which seemed to know no end.

 _What did I do wrong? Why did she reject me at the last minute?_   The thought of spending the day all alone in Paris after _this_ made the trip with Richard seem like a perfect holiday.

* * *

They didn’t meet until next morning when it was already time to head back home. Having waited the entire Saturday for Carol to contact her, for _any_ news of her at all, Therese had resigned herself to her fate. Carol didn’t obviously give a damn about her, she decided. She might as well face it now and get it over with.

The trip back home was awkward to say the least neither one of them really saying a word to one another. Therese thought Carol had almost started to say something at one point but decided against it instead. They hadn’t exactly needed words to communicate before so why would this time be any different, she pondered bitterly.

A taxi was waiting at Heathrow and when it dropped Therese off at her place, she calmly collected her things and hardly nodding at Carol got out of the car. For a long time she thought she felt her eyes on her even though the car was already speeding away. _Not very likely_ , she scoffed opening the front door of her building.       

* * *

“Isn’t it the lovely, multi-talented Miss Belivet herself!” Abigail Gerhard greeted her when Therese returned to work the next day. “I heard the Paris trip was a roaring success. Mrs. Aird has been singing your praises ever since she got back last night, I’m seriously considering giving you a raise.” Her boss had a marvelous grin on her face. _What the fuck?_ “Uhm… thanks, but I’m sure she is exaggerating”, Therese replied uneasily.

“No, really, she was going on and on what a gem you are – my God, Therese, what did you _do_ to her?” _I did absolutely nothing because she didn’t let me._ “Well, it wasn’t anything really, just your basic stuff, you know.” Therese was getting annoyed but she managed to hide it perfectly. _Has everyone gone mad or what the hell’s happening here?_   Miss Gerhard looked so happy she was positively beaming. “Whatever it was, dear Therese, it was nothing short of a home run…”

* * *

Therese spent her lunch hour going to King’s Cross to see Genie. “I’m afraid Miss Cantrell is not here anymore. She’s convalescing at her parents’ house at the moment.” The nurse had nothing more to say. Therese knew she wouldn’t be welcome at Cantrells' posh home at Kensington so she opted to send a text message to Genie instead.

> **How are you? I’m back in town. Can we meet? x Therese**  
> 
> **Let’s meet. Please. T**
> 
> **Please, Genie. Just once.**

No reply, _nothing_. Genie wasn’t going to answer her – even her attempt to call her had been futile. _I’m on a roll here_ , she thought feeling miserable.      

* * *

Standing on a platform at Embankment tube station Therese remembered a story she had read at _Daily Mail_ about a widow who had used to come there only to listen to the message booming out of the loudspeakers. “Mind the gap!” it had said and the woman had smiled hearing her late husband’s voice carry over the disembarking passengers. “It was his voice that was hardest to remember”, she had told the reporter. Sitting on the platform bench she had waited for yet another train just to hear the love of her life speak once more. “He was never very far away in my head and in my heart,” she had said making love sound so very simple. Therese wondered if she would ever know a love like that – blissful, comforting and serene.      

Stepping out at Waterloo she noticed it again painted yellow on the platform pavement: MIND THE GAP. Coming out of the speakers it soon rang in her head and it kept ringing even when she made it to the street level. _Mind the gap, mind the gap – mind the gap, please_. All of a sudden it sprang out of her memory, something she had thought of earlier:  _At the time they’d been so close you couldn’t have fit a straw between the two of them._

She hadn’t minded the gap between Genie and herself and as a result neither of them had been able to find a solid footing in the relationship. Their lives had become an entangled mess of not knowing where one ended and the other one began. A mess of ill-defined needs and wants and fears, all of it left unresolved because of their inability to distance themselves from each other.

Therese spent the night alone at her home cooking and listening to music. One song stuck out and especially the last two verses which seemed to speak directly to her:

> _Baby I've been here before_  
>  _I've seen this room and I've walked the floor_  
>  _used to live alone before I knew ya_  
>  _But I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch_  
>  _Our love is not a victory march_  
>  _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_
> 
> \---
> 
> _Maybe there's a God above_  
>  _But all I've ever learned from love_  
>  _Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya_  
>  _It's not a cry that you hear at night_  
>  _It's not someone who's seen the light_  
>  _It's a cold and broken Hallelujah_

She thought of Genie, and her mind was flooded with memories from the five years, some of them bad but some of them definitely good. And she thought of Carol as well, what she had said that fateful evening.

_If we go forward too fast our souls can’t keep up, they are left behind and must be awaited upon arrival like lost luggage._

Carol had unfinished business just like she did. And unlike her, Carol had known it.

Therese sat down and wrote a letter – to Genie. She wrote down every lovely thing she could remember, the wonderfully kind words Genie had said to her, the smiles and the laughs, even the smallest sweet details which had seemed so insignificant to her during the past few months. And she described their past happiness in its splendor as the most beautiful chapter of her life so far.

Then she wrote about their getting lost in each other, how everything had changed, gradually at first, then with a terrifying speed. How she had ultimately betrayed Genie’s trust, been unfaithful to her at her darkest hour and how she had regretted it and still did.

Therese had received so many gifts from Genie she wanted to give her one, she said, the poem which had always meant so much to her yet she had never shared it with her.

> _The art of losing isn't hard to master;_  
>  _so many things seem filled with the intent_  
>  _to be lost that their loss is no disaster._  
>    
>  _Lose something every day. Accept the fluster_  
>  _of lost door keys, the hour badly spent._  
>  _The art of losing isn't hard to master._  
>    
>  _Then practice losing farther, losing faster:_  
>  _places, and names, and where it was you meant_  
>  _to travel. None of these will bring disaster._  
>    
>  _I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or_  
>  _next-to-last, of three loved houses went._  
>  _The art of losing isn't hard to master._  
>    
>  _I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,_  
>  _some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent._  
>  _I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster._  
>    
>  _\-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture_  
>  _I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident_  
>  _the art of losing's not too hard to master_  
>  _though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster._

“You may think whatever you wish of me after having read this poem by Elizabeth Bishop but please, do see my pixie smile – the one you once loved – between its lines as well.”

She mailed the letter with no false hope or pending wish.


	12. Hitchcock Blonde

_Six months later_

“Dannie, should I leave this here for you or throw it in the trash on my way out?” Therese pointed at the small tin jar on the sink of the kitchenette. She was busy packing the last crates for her impending move. “Leave it, it might come handy… who knows where I’ll need to hide my stash when my sponsor comes for a surprise visit…” wiggling his eyebrows, Dannie flashed a wide smile. “Not funny!” Therese shouted throwing a tea towel at him. Ultimately she had to join in his laughter if not for any other reason than for her happiness at how his things seemed to be working out.

He’d been clean for five months now and even though it wasn’t a particularly long time yet, Dannie had a lot to look forward to – a place of his own, Therese’s old flat, and a part-time job with a full time potential.

Therese was indeed moving out. She had rented a cozy one bedroom apartment near the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden.  It wasn’t as close to Tate Modern as her old flat but the neighborhood was more to her liking. She loved the liveliness of the area, both the classic and the contemporary vibe of the district. She could also afford it now since Miss Gerhard had kept her promise of a raise topping it with a promotion. They worked side by side, she and “Abby” as she had asked Therese to call her now.

* * *

Her work at the Tate Modern had become significantly more rewarding. Therese rarely gave tours any more since she had her hands full with the upcoming exhibitions. Every once in a while she did peek into the Rothko Room and spend a leisurely moment drinking in the paintings. Carol stayed away, though, and it took something out of the experience. Therese had grown so used to seeing her there she had a hard time envisioning the room as the perfect whole it once was.

When the inevitable day came by, the day when the room was finally dismantled and the individual works placed elsewhere or loaned to other museums, Therese was sad but not as sad as she had thought she would be. Casting a final glance at the tantalizing reds, browns and blacks she was certainly sadder but also wiser. Or at least she hoped she was.

* * *

“How’s the presentation coming along?” Abby asked Therese one late Friday afternoon. “Getting there, don’t you worry!” she quipped amusedly. “Do you have time for a drink? It’s the London Cocktail Week after all and we’ve been working like dogs for two weeks already.” Therese liked the idea right away and not just because of the gist of it took place right next to where she lived. “Yes, of course.” 

The streets of Covent Garden were bustling with locals and tourists alike. Therese and Abby chuckled at the humorous sight of people going about with tiny cocktail cups in hand tasting different liquors with gusto only the beginning of the weekend could afford them. They joined in the inebriated fun clinking their plastic tumblers every chance they got.

“Why don’t we go to the London Cocktail Club and sit down for a change? This stand-up tippling isn’t really working for me anymore.” Abby grinned adorably at Therese who couldn’t agree more. “Sit-down boozing it is, then…” she snickered and started towards the Great Newport Street. They were both members of the self-proclaimed “Victorian speakeasy”.

“I’ll have the Brixton Riot!” Abby shouted to the bartender over the bar room noise. “How about you, Therese? An Oyster Bomb, perhaps?” Therese shook her head. “No more oysters for me, please…” she managed to blurt out. “A Rose Petal for my friend, then…” Abby decided. They got their cocktails and wiggled their way back to the corner table.

“About the presentation, are you really ready for it? It’s coming up in two weeks…” It was typical of Abby to fuss over things she knew were already taken care of. “Yes! I told you already. I have everything sorted out, I just need to polish it a bit before Giverny,” Therese assured her. “I have my tickets, the schedule, everything… quit being such a pain in the ass!”  Abby seemed contented enough.

“So how’s life treating you? Are you still single?” Abby started carelessly. The choice of her words sobered Therese up significantly. She had never told her anything about her love life. “How did you know I’m single?” she asked sharply. Abby looked as if she hadn’t heard the question. Therese repeated it.

“Well, you’ve never mentioned anything about a boyfriend or a girlfriend for that matter…” Abby tried failing miserably. “Abby. What is this?” Therese wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “Okay, okay, it’s not like I’m hitting on you, if that’s what you’re afraid. A friend of mine happened to mention it some time ago.” Therese drew a quick breath.

“What friend?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway. “My friend – Carol. I mean Mrs. Aird.” Abby smiled at her apologetically. “She was curious about it. That’s all.” Finally she caved in under Therese’s relentless scrutiny. “What the hell happened in Paris?” Abby pried suddenly. She sounded guileless in her direct inquiry. “Nothing,” Therese replied sullenly. “Nothing happened in Paris.”

The memory of the weekend dampened her spirits and Abby seemed to pick up on it. “Whatever it was, it probably doesn’t matter anymore. She genuinely likes you, you know? Always asks after you.” Abby patted her hand gently. “Why has she then kept away from the museum?” Therese found herself asking. “There’s the divorce for one thing. It was an ugly debacle for everyone concerned,” Abby shuddered thinking about it.

“The only good thing is it’s finally over. She didn’t actually come out of it unscathed. In the end she had to give up her half of their joint assets just to keep her daughter to herself.” The news of Carol’s divorce proceedings bothered Therese. She wanted to ask more but wasn’t sure how to approach the matter. “Go ahead, ask, I know you want to”, Abby urged her out of the blue. _She’s quick_ , Therese thought an uneasy smile forming on her face.

“Uhm…. is she okay?” she managed to say. “As good as can be expected. She got Rindy and that’s all that really mattered so I suppose it’s safe to say yes.” Abby’s eyes searched her closely. “For the love of God, Therese, what the fuck happened in Paris? I know something did but neither of you will speak a word about it!” She sounded almost angry.

“Listen, I’ve known Carol my entire life and I’ve known you, like, five minutes but I can see what a wonderful person you are and if there’s _anything_ I can do to sort this mess or misunderstanding out, I most certainly will.” Shaking her head, Therese smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment but it’s okay, so let’s just drop it.”

For a while it seemed as if Abby was going to keep pushing on but she didn’t. She did however return to her earlier question. “You still haven’t answered me…” Therese stared at her not giving away a thing. “If it’s for Carol you’re asking, why don’t you tell her to find it out for herself.”         

* * *

The movie was nearing its end. Therese and Dannie sat on the fifth row at the NFT1. It was the BFI Hitchcock season at the National Film Theatre and the entire audience seemed to be holding its breath at one of the pivotal moments of the quintessential tale of obsession, _Vertigo_. Kim Novak and James Stewart filled the screen with their mad passion and insistence.

>  JUDY/MADELEINE
> 
> _The trouble is, I’m gone now. For you. And I can’t do anything about it. I want you to love me. If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?_
> 
> SCOTTIE
> 
>   _Yes._
> 
>  JUDY/MADELEINE
> 
>   _All right. Then I’ll do it. Because I don’t care about me anymore. I just want you to love me._

* * *

Bernard Herrmann’s haunting score lingered on when the credits started rolling. The lights were turned on gradually, and Therese felt as if she was waking up from a strange and sad dream all too weird to be anything else except terrifyingly lifelike.

“Have time for a quick pint?” Dannie asked her once they got out of the cinema. “Sure, let’s have it in the bar”, she replied happily. Therese had seen Vertigo several times and each one had left her seriously out of breath. This was no exception and she was happy to have company to hash it over once more.

“That’s one seriously fucked up piece of cinema”, Dannie chuckled, “in the best possible sense, of course!” he added. “I don’t know how many times I’ve seen it but every friggin’ viewing leaves me positively dumbfounded.” Therese couldn’t agree more. “I know. It’s a study of a purposefully constructed identity, and of how a falsified personality can sometimes be more tempting and seductive than a real one.” Dannie nodded eagerly. “Like Scottie, we all have these romantic dreams we are tempted to surrender to. The passion of Vertigo really stems from the obsessive need to repeat one’s past mistakes, right?” Like her friend, Therese was in awe of Hitchcock who never shied away from probing the darker sides of human nature.

“Scottie Ferguson is one sick puppy. I mean he never gets his shit together in the film. He starts out as a mess and ends up like one… _phew!_ ” Dannie let out an admiring whistle. “I guess the most thrilling part of it is the fact the film never strays far away from authentic, recognizable feelings,” Therese mused wistfully. “It’s certainly melodramatic and the plot is over the top but it still reads like a tragedy of human existence, of our desperate need to idolize and merge with another person.” Dannie was quick to follow up. “And the real tragedy is the truth that it will never happen, that our encounters will be doomed from the very beginning if we have such an impossible and unhealthy idea of love.” He had a dreamy look in his eyes. “At best we can only hope for those rare epiphanies, the fleeting moments when we finally realize what we have right now could not be more right or more perfect.”

Suddenly curious, Therese smiled at Dannie. “Why, Mr. McElroy, whatever has happened to you? Could it be love I hear chiming in your sweet little voice?” To her great surprise Dannie blushed. “Well, yeah, kinda, I guess…” He looked like a little boy. “I met this guy a couple of weeks ago. He came to the office and we sort of started talking.” Therese was grinning ashamedly. “My, my… and it took this long to tell me?” she chided playfully. Dannie looked a bit guilty. “I guess I didn’t want to jinx it…”

* * *

It was still quite early when they said their goodbyes. Any other time they would have lingered by some bar till the early hours of the next day but tonight Dannie had someplace else to go. He was meeting Paul.

At Southbank, Therese walked along the Thames and watched the crowd gathering around street performers. She thought of what Dannie had said about the film paralleling protagonist’s impaired vision with the obsessive and possessive gaze of a lover. “What happened to that Hitchcock blonde of yours?” he had asked referring to Carol. “You never talk about her anymore.” _My Hitchcock blonde_ , she chuckled while passing the ice cream stalls, _I suppose Dannie’s onto something with his novel characterization_.    

There were a lot people queuing up to the London Eye, and Therese did her best to avoid bumping into impatient tourists waiting their turn to be lifted across the night sky. “Therese…” _Did someone just say my name?_ Slowing down, Therese looked around not recognizing anyone in her close proximity.

“Therese!” This time she was certain of it. Therese turned around and saw a very familiar blonde woman approaching her from behind the ticket stall of the city’s most popular ferris wheel. “I thought it was you but couldn’t be hundred percent certain until you turned your head…” Carol smiled at her warmly. _Speak of the devil..._

“How have you been?” she continued watching her very closely. “Oh, I’m fine,” Therese replied in a carefree manner, “and you?” Carol’s smile widened. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking.” She gestured towards the London Eye. “I’m here with my daughter Rindy – she and her school mates are next in line to the Eye…” Therese tried to catch a glimpse of the girl Carol had so dearly fought over.  “You’re not going up?” she asked her dimples making a sudden comeback. “Good God, no… I’m afraid of heights,” Carol laughed self-deprecatingly. Therese couldn’t help but grin for she was thinking of Vertigo and Carol’s vertigo all at once.

“Abby tells me you’re thriving at your new job,” Carol said suddenly. “Well, I do love it so I guess I’m just really motivated to do my best,” she explained conscious of Carol’s scrutinizing gaze. However she didn’t really mind it this time, it didn’t seem to rattle her quite as much as it had before. Therese met her eyes so openly Carol seemed startled for a second.

“I finally did what I had to do, and it has made my life so much better already,” the blonde woman continued. “I’m very happy for you,” Therese said meaning it. The group of girls was getting restless by the wheel entrance. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid I must go and see what on earth is happening over there…” Carol had a distressed look on her face. “Ther…” she started but Therese interrupted her right away. “Look, you’d better go and see to them… and I must be on my way anyway.” She wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to do so.  

Already turning to leave, Therese hesitated one second but decided to face her once more. Carol hadn’t moved an inch yet. It was a bold, surprising move on Therese’s part. “Carol…” she started slowly, “the answer to your question is yes, yes I am.” She didn’t stick around to see what kind of an effect it had on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who haven't seen Alfred Hitchcock's VERTIGO - watch it NOW. It's awesome.


	13. Hallelujah

A week later, Therese left for France to be the guest lecturer on Impressionism and on its central figure Claude Monet in particular. She took a train from Saint-Lazare station in Paris to the picturesque city of Vernon in Normandy. 45 minutes later she found herself at her destination curious to see where the famous painter had resided for over 40 years. Therese had declined the kind offer of a chauffeur since she wanted to make the journey on her own terms, not worrying about other people’s timetables.

Therese even chose to walk to the village of Giverny where Claude Monet’s house and gardens were situated. The weather being exceptionally sunny, she knew she had made the right decision. A five kilometer walk is nothing, she thought crossing the bridge over Seine and catching the “Route de Giverny”. The tracks of an ancient railroad provided an easy, flat surface to step upon.

What awaited Therese took her breath away. Claude Monet’s home, the House of The Cider-Press, was an impressive sight not only because of its considerable length. The artist himself had instructed it to be painted adorably pink with dark green shutters. With roses climbing on its pergola, the Virginia creeper covered house blended perfectly in with the surrounding gardens.

Not wanting to break the spell of her wonder by speaking with anyone just yet, she took a peek into the Clos Normand, the flower garden in front of the building. Therese loved it instantly for its playfulness and sunny delight. It was a garden full of perspectives, symmetries and colors, which the master himself had mapped out in marvelous detail. The simple mixed with the exquisite: daisies and poppies intermingled freely with the rarest flower varieties imaginable.

The water garden would have to wait, though, she realized noticing the time. Therese went inside to meet the organizers. She had arrived and she was ready to give her presentation.

* * *

Therese was to give her speech to students who had gathered out on the lawn. She exchanged a few quick words with the curator of the _Musée d'Art Américain_. After a quick introduction, she took her place in front of her audience. 

 _“When you go out to paint, try to forget what objects you have before you, a tree, a house, a field or whatever_ , Claude Monet used to say,” Therese started confidently, _“merely think here is a little square of blue, an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow, and paint it just as it looks to you, the exact color, shape, until it gives you your own naïve impression of the scene before you.”_

She went on to explain how never before Monet had a painter so freely re-imagined his natural subjects before painting them on canvas. How the realistic appearance of flowers and trees became less and less important in the grand scheme of his vision. “It is in the reflections in water clouded by mist and other transparencies, he found a wondrous, inverted world transfigured by the liquid element,” she pointed out.

“If you squint your eyes and look at the lily pond over there, you might actually see what Claude Monet saw losing his eyesight due to cataract. One could almost claim the effect it had on him meant he was actually being as realistic as he could at the time,” she smiled. “Monet tried to capture a moment as if wanting to say that all moments contain the absolute truth and with it the harmony of colors.”

 _Suddenly she paused for a moment not quite sure what had caused it…_ “Water lilies or nymphaeas are strange creatures, lotus flowers which rise out of water and open during the day or at night. Lotus has had many meanings in various cultures, and I’m sure Claude Monet found their curious nature the very reason he painted them for over twenty years. Among many things, lotus symbolizes rebirth, spiritual awakening and faithfulness. And one cannot but think of its act of breaking the surface each morning as suggestive of desire.” _Again she felt it – something behind her, getting closer but remaining invisible for now._

* * *

The presentation was such a success Therese hoped Abby would have been there to hear her. Now her boss would have to rely on second-hand estimates of her performance. She stayed on to chat with the students whom she found both bright and eager to learn more. It wasn’t after all such a long time since she herself had been one of them.

The uneasy feeling she had experienced during her speech hadn’t quite disappeared but as far as she could see, there was no apparent reason for it. _Maybe it was the nerves_ , she thought listening to the curator go on and on about her brilliant delivery. “Thank you, merci beaucoup… yes, I’ll be heading back to Paris after I’ve seen the grounds,” she told the French woman. “Oh the house is lovely… I did have time to see it properly… yes, the blue sitting room, so stunning…” she was growing impatient with her rambling.

After an excruciatingly long while Therese finally bid her farewells and headed towards the water garden. It was the one place she still wanted to see before getting back to the railway station. She had to go through an underground passage to reach the hidden recesses of its Japanese influenced splendors.

She stopped. There it was on the Japanese bridge – the source of her uneasy feeling. Her heart beating wildly, Therese stared at Carol who was drinking in the beauty of the landscape. Flushed, she didn’t know what to do or say or even feel at the moment. Realizing she was again in France with Carol, Therese felt a tinge of resentment pushing through. _With Carol?_ she asked herself. _No, I don’t think so._

Before she could make up her mind, before deciding anything for herself, Carol saw her standing on the pathway. “Are you angry with me, Therese?” she asked noticing her sullen stare. “No, how could I be angry with you?” Therese replied sarcastically. Her tone of voice went by unnoticed. “But you have been, haven’t you?” Therese bowed her head and swallowed. “Why are you here?” she asked instead. “And don’t tell me you thought this would be just the kind of thing that would give you pleasure.”

Carol walked over to her smiling apologetically. “Well, to be honest, it kind of is,” she replied, “to listen to you speak and to see you…” _I’m going to kill Abby_. Her mind racing, Therese glared at her unabashedly. “Now you’ve listened to me and seen me. Are you done?” she demanded to know. “I need to catch the train back to Paris and it leaves within an hour.”

Carol looked at her very gravely. “I was hoping we could have dinner tonight – or a drink?” Her voice was unsteady. “I’m supposed to have dinner with the museum representatives tonight,” Therese answered bluntly. “I won’t have time.” She could feel another emotion springing up, something devastating but yet undefined which nevertheless stung her eyes like tears. 

She declined Carol’s offer to drive her to the station. M. Lefebvre was already waiting for her to do so. “Well, that’s that,” Carol concluded her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I hope you have a wonderful evening, you’ve certainly deserved it.” Quickly averting her eyes, she took her purse and crossed the arched bridge without looking back.     

Pouting her lips, Therese returned to the Monet house to meet M. Lefebvre. _She ruined this for me_ , she thought bitterly and sat on the backseat of the car ready to speed away. _Why did she have to ruin this as well?_ The question kept spinning inside her head all the way back to Paris which suddenly seemed cold and uncaring even though her hosts had made their utmost best to make her feel comfortable. 

* * *

Therese was staying at the elegant _Les Jardins du Marais_ hotel on rue Amelot. It wasn’t as fancy as the place Carol had picked for them for their disastrous trip but she had absolutely no complaints whatsoever. Even if _Pavillon De La Reine_ had offered her their most luxurious suite for free, she wouldn’t have set her foot inside _that_ hotel anymore.

“Pardon, Madame…” The concierge was waving at her when she was about to enter the elevator. “There is a message for you, Madame.” He handed out an envelope with her name on it. Therese took the letter and got up to her room. She needed a shower before wrapping her head around what had just happened and what was expected of her at the formal dinner.

Wearing a bathrobe and her hair all wet, she finally took the letter and opened it.

 

> _Dearest Therese,_
> 
> _You gave me your answer. This is mine._
> 
> _Should you change your mind, I’d love to have dinner with you._
> 
> _8 PM: Le Cinq (Four Seasons Hotel George V) 31, avenue George V_
> 
> _I understand if you cannot._
> 
> _Carol_

Therese read the note again and again. _You gave me your answer_. Yes, she bloody hell did. But why did she send me this after she had already said no, that she wouldn’t be able to make it _even if_ she wanted to? And she didn’t, oh no. And what kind of an _answer_ was this anyway? A dinner? _Abby, you’re a snake for giving her the name of my hotel…_

 _You gave me your answer…_ what answer was Carol referring to? The one she had spat out this afternoon or the one she had given almost as a joke at Southbank? What on earth had possessed her to do so in the first place? Why did she find it so damn important to inform her of her singlehood? Without mindlessly shooting her mouth off she could be having the time of her life right now, here alone in Paris. _Alone in Paris.._.

Therese didn’t want to think about it. She absolutely refused to dwell on it. She was going to the museum dinner and that was final. It was 6 PM already so she had to hurry along if she were to make it to St. Germain by 7.45.

* * *

At 7.30 she stepped into a taxi knowing she would be late for her dinner engagement. She had the name and the address of the restaurant located on rue du Cherche Midi written on a piece of paper to hand out to the driver. Just as she was about to do so, Therese heard herself say: “31, avenue George V, s’il-vous-plaît…” She sank back on the backseat and threw the slip of paper away. _I am a mad woman with a serious death wish._

\--

Therese spent the rest of the ride profusely apologizing for her sudden inability to join her intended engagement. _No, I’d rather go and be humiliated for the third time by the same woman than sit down with you perfectly nice and decent people for a hearty meal after a long day_ , she wanted to say instead.

When the taxi pulled over at the Four Seasons hotel, she almost regretted her decision. At the same time she knew nothing or no one could prevent her from marching through the plush, opulent entrance to meet Carol’s inimitable gray gaze again.

“Excusez-moi, Madame, vous avez une reservation?” The maître d’ tried to stop her but she stormed in nevertheless. “I’m looking for someone…” she quipped moving determinedly forward. Therese looked around eagerly and when she spotted Carol sitting at a small corner table all by herself, something in her softened, even melt a little, against her will. The familiar running of her fingers through the hair, the chiseled cheekbones, the delicate curve of her chin, and then, the gray eyes which lit up in thousand little flames the moment she saw Therese standing in front of her.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Carol said. Her voice was soft, velvety. “Well, don’t read too much into it. I decided I’d rather come here than spend my evening with some old bores,” Therese answered matter-of-factly. “I’m glad you don’t find _me_ an old bore,” Carol laughed. “I can think of many adjectives to describe you but boring is not one of them,” Therese retorted dryly. “Being with you is the least boring thing I can think of”, she continued and even though she meant it as a slight, the way she said it made it sound beautiful and touching. It also seemed to throw Carol off balance.

“Let’s eat,” Therese decided avoiding her gaze, “I’m starving.” Carol glanced at the menu. “Would you like an ‘Epicurean Escape’ or shall we order à la carte?” she asked Therese. The waiter brought a bottle of champagne to their table and filled their glasses. “Whatever is good,” she replied hearing her stomach growl at the mere mention of food. “We’ll start with the black truffles, then the lobster… the cheese plate and, well, we’ll think about the dessert once we get there,” Carol informed the waiter.

* * *

“I owe you an apology, I know that. I acted foolishly and left you on your own,” Carol started her voice wavering noticeably. “Can you forgive me?” The question hung over Therese like the sword of Damocles ready to split her in half. She refrained from answering. “You must understand why I did what I had to do,” Carol continued patiently. “I know why you did it,” Therese interrupted harshly. “It’s okay, we don’t need to talk about it.”

She was angry even though she knew Carol’s reasons very well. Something about Paris still evoked the painful memory despite her understanding, despite her coming to terms with it in London. Being so close to Carol was hard as well, she realized, after all these months of thinking about her, how she was and why she had kept away from the museum.  

“You missed the last days of the Rothko Room,” she said quietly aware of a sudden lump in her throat. “I know. I’m sorry.” Carol looked genuinely grieved. Therese was about to say something when the waiter returned with their entrees.

“You were simply brilliant today,” Carol complimented changing the subject. “The audience was eating right out of your hand.” Therese smiled shyly grateful for the shift in their conversation. “Thank you. I thought it went pretty well.” Her hand rested on the table quite close to Carol’s elegant fingers. The memory of them sliding behind her neck, bending her to a kiss sweeter than any she had ever tasted made her insides quiver irrepressibly.

Therese felt her anger subside with each kind word and gesture Carol showered her with, and by the time they were to order dessert, something indefinable had taken its place. She felt relieved, outright cheerful, and when Carol laughed, it was only natural for her to join in. _It’s so easy to laugh with you_ , she thought watching her closely, listening to her vivid portrayal of Rindy, the precocious ten-year-old on the verge of adolescence.

“How about we skip dessert altogether?” Carol said abruptly as if she’d had enough all of a sudden. _But it’s still early_ , Therese wanted to protest. Crushed by unexpected disappointment she was unable to say a word. “Unless you absolutely want some?” Carol rushed to add. “I was just thinking we could have a nightcap in my room instead. It’s getting awfully noisy in here and I think I spotted a decent bottle of Chardonnay in the minibar.” Therese froze for a second afraid to meet her gaze. “You have a room here?” she asked hardly recognizing her own, strained voice. “Yes.” Carol averted her eyes. “I mean we don’t have to if you don’t want to, we can have dessert and wine here as well or even at the lobby bar, whichever you prefer…” She sounded nervous. “No, it’s fine. Chardonnay sounds dandy.” _Dandy?_

They left the dining room quietly Therese following Carol’s lead. Neither one dared to look at one another. Once they reached the top floor Therese got the funny feeling she had been in the same situation twice before. _This is like a déjà-vu, or what was that movie again – Groundhog Day_ , she thought walking two steps behind Carol. _I am doomed to meet the same moment again and again and then to be flung out of her space to the world before and without her_.

Carol opened the door and when Therese passed her by she caught a trace of her perfume like a too strong a shot of absinthe. Suddenly she was again the liquor-soaked cube of sugar, willing to be set ablaze and to burn in splendid green flame.

* * *

They sat on the opposite sides of the room, Carol in an armchair, Therese on the side of the bed. The suite was lovely, Therese thought sipping her drink. Being there did however make her terribly self-conscious.

“So, am I spared of your more savory topics tonight?” Therese asked gutsily. She was having a hard time adjusting to the sudden silences descending upon them every so often. “And which topics might you be referring to, may I ask?” Carol inquired curiously. “The physiological effects of intimacy, and what was it again – the chemical bath?” To look at Carol while saying it took every drop of courage Therese possessed but she managed to do it anyway.

Carol seemed slightly embarrassed at first but only for a second. “Well…” she started slowly stretching her words like a cat flexes her paws, “I think there comes a time when one should just stop _talking_ about it.” She stared intently at Therese ready to throw all her caution to the wind. “And what happens then?” Therese responded as intensely as she possibly could.       

Carol rose to her feet and, quite simply, walked over to Therese and kissed her. It was a soft, almost demure kiss to test her lips – to pose a question, really – to find out if what she wanted was what Therese wanted as well. Breaking the contact ever so slowly, Carol looked at Therese. “This happens.”

Maybe it was too bold of her to assume something could come out of the mess she’d made, too arrogant to expect anything after what she had done but she had to give it a try anyway… and while her mind still raced, Therese already conceded, touched her neck through the veil of her silken tresses and returned the kiss. “I like it.”

Therese pulled Carol closer wanting to kiss her more, to disarm her of any chance to retreat. She smiled against her mouth and the curved corners of her thirsty lips made Carol smile too. _She tastes like rain,_ Therese thought, _every sip of her overwhelming and relentless._ Tracing the soft curve of her collarbone with the tips of her fingers, Therese parted her lips wider to receive what Carol was giving willingly. “I want to see you.” The sound of their rapt resuscitation grew lusty, almost loud. “I want you.”

Carol’s words echoing in her ears, she let herself be pushed against the soft mattress. The cool hands roving under her top, fastening on her hips as she crawled on top of Therese. The hurried opening of the shirt buttons, then getting rid of it altogether, Carol leaned in to kiss her pale, shivering sternum.

Feeling her nimble touch, her insistent mouth, Therese slid her hands along the sides of Carol’s body. She felt the weight of her curves apply heavenly pressure on her own slight frame, and it left her panting. _I need you to show me just how much_ , Therese wanted to say but couldn’t. Carol took off Therese’s bra and rubbed her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers just for the pleasure to hear her groan.  

Finding her bearings between her thighs, Carol pulled Therese’s legs up and locked them behind her back. She lowered herself to kiss her bare throat, the warm, flushed skin revealed in its entirety. Therese felt a jolt of desire after every nip, dab and lick Carol’s mouth left at its wake.

They were still wearing far too much, Therese agonized, and in her frustration she yanked the waist of Carol’s skirt unnecessarily hard. Gray eyes darker every second, Carol looked at her approvingly and slipped out of the hindering garment. Sitting up, she did away with her bra letting Therese take her time to see what was now in front of her in full flesh.

Therese gasped at the pleasure of seeing her breasts so ready to roll right into her waiting mouth. Her lips suddenly parched she swallowed hard and cupped them with impatient, trembling hands. Finally free, Carol allowed Therese full access, the right to do whatever she pleased with them. Circling them with her swift tongue, Therese indulged herself with the pink, protruding nipples for a long while.

Shuddering more with every streak of Therese’s melting mouth, Carol’s breathing became agitated. It excited Therese tremendously to see her so worked-up, so utterly defenseless, it made her head spin. It was as if all her nerves were jam-packed into a single line, into one all-consuming passage from Carol’s response straight down to her groin.

Feeling yet another rush of warmth between her legs, a breathless whisper escaped her mouth to mingle with Carol’s increasing moans. ”Are you wet for me?” To answer her question Carol guided her hand to meet her slick which paralyzed Therese for a second. “Oh god..” she gulped finding her so drenched and swollen for the first time. Therese had to withdraw quickly if she were to do it at all – she didn’t want either of them to come just yet but knew better than to tempt fate.

 _And what would be the harm in that?_ A voice in her head asked. A voice too impatient to understand any postponement of instant gratification let alone the one with Carol straddling her. “Darling…” Carol whimpered unwilling to release Therese’s hand from her hot center, “Please…” but Therese had already made up her mind as she was determined to switch their positions. “Soon,” she promised letting Carol taste her own essence from her fingers. The sensation of her fingers in Carol’s mouth was almost too much.

On top of her now, Therese stripped the last particles of her clothing never losing eye contact for a second. She was returning the favor granted her just a moment ago. The nakedness of their joined bodies was a source of ceaseless wonder for her and she couldn’t help but take her time watching Carol writhe deliciously under her.

She felt utterly happy and she was acutely aware of the quality of this happiness as something she didn’t need to explain in any other form than sheer bliss. Everything else would follow, she was sure, but now this was all there was and rightly so.

Carol caressed her breasts coaxing a moan out of Therese. She smiled feeling the dampness of her young lover rub on her inner thigh and boldly bucked her hips to let her groin meet her mound. She could feel the urgency building in Therese though she was still resisting it. Carol knew her wish to prolong their lovemaking but she also chose to ignore it. She wanted Therese to come for her, to see how she looked crying out of pleasure and going slack with imminent release. She wanted to understand what made Therese insatiable and then perfectly sated. She would want to see it again and again, she knew.

Neither of them had to wait much longer. All the cognizant wishes, intentions and aspirations they earlier had vanished soon enough, drowned in the crescendo of their jerky movements, hands and thighs and lips and strands of hair becoming a fluctuating mess of their ever dizzying spiral. _We will come at the same time,_ pulsated through Carol’s brain when she realized how very close they both were. _No slowing the pace anymore_ , Therese knew tightening against Carol’s thrusting fingers and feeling the throbbing of Carol’s core against the well-lubed strokes of her frenzied palm.               


	14. Famous Dykes

Carol stood in front of a pavilion at 20 rue Jacob. Shadowing her eyes with her hand, she was peering through a window, which made Therese curious. Wrapping her arms around Carol’s waist, she looked over her shoulder and tried to figure out what she was doing. “What is this place?” she asked kissing her neck gently. Carol let out a contented sigh and leaned her head against Therese.

“This is where Natalie Clifford Barney held her literary salon for over half a century until the late 1960s.” She nodded towards the window in front of her. “And there, behind the walls of this house, lies the famous La Temple à l'Amitié, The Temple of Friendship, the Sapphic centre of the western world…” Therese grinned at the thought. “Really? Dare I ask what it involved?” Laughing, Carol turned to face her. “Cavorting naked in the garden… secret, sacred rituals among past, present and future lovers.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And a whole lot more… let’s just say Natalie was a busy girl. She bedded a legion of women, dividing her affairs into liaisons, demi-liaisons and adventures. Too bad we can’t get a closer look… I hear it’s pretty dilapidated these days.” Therese chuckled. “You seem to be awfully knowledgeable about this. How come you know so much?”

Carol gave her a deliciously devilish smile. “There’s a whole lot you don’t know about me… but you will,” she said pulling her even closer. “I wanted you to see this place because I think it’s special. I used to read a lot about Barney and her long-time lover, the painter Romaine Brooks while at college. About all the women who used to frequent the Amazon’s – that’s what Natalie was called – home. Colette, Dolly Wilde, Oscar’s niece, the poet Renée Vivien, Sylvia Beach, Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Radclyffe Hall, Djuna Barnes… pretty much everyone who was anyone.” She placed a tender kiss on Therese’s lips. “The London based painter Gluck – do you know her? There’s this portrait of hers in the National Portrait Gallery I truly love – belonged to the same coterie.” Therese couldn’t but stare at Carol rapturously. She did, after all, know the painting she had just referred to very well. “When Truman Capote saw Romaine’s portraits of their friends he called them the all-time ultimate gallery of famous dykes, an international daisy chain.”

“Why were _you_ so interested?” Therese asked trying to sound innocent. She didn’t quite succeed. “You think I’m a first timer?” Carol replied amusedly. _No, after last night Therese most certainly didn’t._ “I’ve had a few affairs, experiments really, and a short relationship with a good friend…” Therese looked at her keenly. “With Abby.” Carol was eager to see her reaction. “Oh… okay,” Therese managed to say.

She had spoken with Abby on the phone that morning. It had been an amusing call, Abby asking whether she’d found everything _satisfactory_ , and if her _needs_ were being _met_.  And now she found out the woman who had so successfully played Cupid between them was actually Carol’s former lover.  “Are you okay?” Carol needed to know, “I know she’s your boss, but it was like twenty years ago…” Therese smiled a bit self-consciously. “Yeah, I am. I just had no idea…” She hugged Carol tightly and inhaled the intoxicating scent that was markedly her and no one else. “Could we go somewhere and have a cup of coffee or something? All this dyke talk makes me peckish.” 

* * *

“Aren’t you glad you get to spend a few more days here with me?” Carol asked when they were sitting comfortably at an outdoor table of the café L’Etoile Manquante on Rue Vieille du Temple at Le Marais. “Abby was very thoughtful to give you some time off, don’t you think?” she continued all smiles. “You were awfully sure of yourself, weren’t you?” Therese laughed good-naturedly. “Actually I wasn’t. Not at all. My return flight is about to take off… right now, as a matter of fact,” Carol replied glancing at her watch. Therese leaned in to take her hands on hers. She kissed her palms and fingers moved by her simple confession, her acknowledgement that she, Carol, had gone out on a limb for her fully aware she might not come out of it with flying colors.

Yet here they were now as lovers. All the implications and expectations the word entailed made a sweet mess of her. First of all, the obvious – the incredible physical connection they had experienced and established during the night – and secondly, the invisible and unknown – the reality they would have to face once back in London. Therese didn’t want to think about the latter, she would have plenty of time to deal with it later on, but she did want the former, right now she wanted it _all the time_. Just thinking about it made her grin endlessly.

“What’s so funny?” Carol asked smiling curiously. “Nothing. I was just thinking about last night… and what I want to do to you once we get back to the hotel.” Her words seemed to have a direct effect on Carol. “Well, I’m definitely intrigued. Shall we go?” Therese got up so fast she knocked the table over.      

* * *

“What do you want to do tonight?” Carol’s voice was seriously out of breath. “This.” Therese smiled and let her hand glide slowly down Carol’s naked thigh. “Can’t we just call room service?” She placed a kiss on the soft curve of her right breast. “You know I want nothing more but we are after all in Paris… maybe we should do some sightseeing, don’t you think?” Carol shivered under her delicate touch. “I am… seeing… sights,” Therese murmured moving both downwards and on top of her.

“Darling…” Carol exhaled laboriously, “I so want to… but we’re in Paris and I’d like to make it up to you, the last trip, I mean… and we have the rest of our lives to –“ Therese froze and Carol shut up immediately. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way!” she hastened to correct. “It’s just a figure of speech, please believe me, I would never assume…” But Therese stopped her. “I know it is. It’s fine, believe _me_.” She looked straight into her eyes. “I’d be happy to know this will continue when we’re back… I want it and I’d settle for knowing just that.” Therese tried to interpret Carol’s frightened confusion. “For now.” Relieved, Carol gazed at her longingly and suddenly Therese needed no more words to convince her that it would indeed be so.

An hour and a half later they were ready to leave the room. “Let’s go to Montmartre, there’s a place I want to show to you.” Carol took Therese’s hand and led her up the Avenue George V all the way to the metro station by the same name. They rode the line 1 transferring at Concorde to line 12 which reached Abbesses in seven minutes. Therese had no idea what Carol wanted to show her though she had tried her best to pry it out of her. “You’ll see…” Carol had laughed grabbing her tickling hands in a desperate attempt to get her to stop.

“You said you love cinema…” Carol started once they’d made it to their destination. Therese was instantly smitten by what she found perched high up on Rue Tholozé.  Studio 28, the quintessential home of the French avant-garde film, welcomed them with its joyously red stairs and neon lights. “This place was founded in 1928, and it has seen a veritable cavalcade of cinema celebrities starting from Charlie Chaplin, Luis Buñuel and Frank Capra… the incredible light fixtures were designed by Jean Cocteau who frequented the place as well.” Therese was so taken by the place she could hardly contain herself. “This is so lovely! Thank you for bringing me here. Can we go and see a film as well?” Her excitement made Carol happy. “Of course, darling, but let’s go and see what’s playing first…”

Studio 28 was truly a sight to behold. Its walls held an impressive collection of signed pictures of stars from all eras of film history but what made it really stand out as original was the way it combined cinema with other forms of art, namely photography and painting.  The nostalgia it exuded seemed to render everything possible.

They had tea in the cinema’s covered interior courtyard which served not only as a salon du thé but also as a bar and a restaurant. A vast fresco of the characters most vividly associated with the myth of French cinema – Jean Gabin, Simone Signoret, Yves Montand, Alain Delon, Brigitte Bardot, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Fernandel and Jean Marais – added to the distinct Arabian Nights vibe of the bamboo and plant decorated summer terrace.

“Oh, they’re showing _Brief Encounter_   today!” Therese exclaimed enthusiastically. “I absolutely adore it – have you seen it?” Carol shook her head taking a bite of her _gâteau au chocolat_. “No, I don’t think so. What is it about?” Therese had a dreamy look in her eyes. “It’s this heart-wrenching story of two strangers, a doctor and a housewife, who meet by accident in a railway station and fall in love despite both being married already…” she couldn’t wait to continue, “…and it starts with this amazing scene where both of them are sitting at a café table, and the situation seems really strained and emotional, and all of a sudden they are rudely interrupted by this insensitive woman who joins them uninvited and ruins everything.” Therese let out a long sigh. “It’s all told in a series of flash backs, as the female protagonist’s recollection of how everything unfolded up to the moment we’ve already seen in the beginning.” Carol looked pensive. “Sounds really sad…” Therese nodded. “It is, but then again, the best films always are.”

* * *

After the movie they took a leisurely walk along the winding streets of Montmartre. The neighborhood around Abbesses was pleasantly lively and far more to their liking than the touristy area right next to the Sacré Coeur Basilica.  The Abbesses quarter once inhabited by Picasso, Toulouse-Lautrec and their contemporaries still retained some of its authentic charm. Even locals seemed more charming than the rest of the Parisians, Carol pointed out quite correctly.

They decided to have dinner at La Mascotte on 52 Rue des Abbesses. The traditionally French brasserie and bar dating since 1889 had a definite art deco charm with huge mirrors to give the generous interior even more spacious look. While waiting for food, Carol touched Therese’s hand on the table. “How’s your friend… I mean your ex-girlfriend – is she alright?” She sounded a bit uncertain. “I suppose so,” Therese started hesitantly, “although I haven’t met her since our last trip”. Carol looked troubled.

“I wanted to but she never answered any of my calls or text messages. She wasn’t in the hospital when I got back, you see,” Therese added wanting to stress the effort she’d made. “I did write her a letter, though. Poured my heart out...” She desperately wanted Carol to understand the meaning of her gesture but couldn’t think of the right words to convey it. “I guess I’m trying to tell you that I’ve made my peace with it, with her and everything that had to do with our relationship.” Carol squeezed her hand softly. “We always look for closure, the full circle so to speak, yet in real life we rarely have it. We punish others for their lack of understanding by leaving them hanging in midair, or they punish us… either way, we must come to terms with our own past and try to make the best of it. And maybe in the future we won’t be quite as cruel with love or affection gone wrong, and we’ll have mercy on others as well as on ourselves.” Carol chose her words carefully, and what she managed to say impressed Therese a great deal.              

“Should we talk about what I mistakenly blurted out in the hotel room?” Carol asked abruptly while they were enjoying their Armagnac marinated goose breast. “Maybe. I don’t know,” Therese replied apprehensively. “I know you didn’t mean it that way.” Carol put her fork down and looked at her very gravely. “Well, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea either way,” she started. “I may have said earlier that I enjoy casual sex as much as anyone prone to it, but it’s not exactly true.” Now it was Therese’s turn to stop eating.

“What I mean is I don’t see you as someone I have casual sex with.” Sighing, Carol closed her eyes in desperation. “Good God, I just can’t get this right, can I…” Therese tried to keep her poker face. “So what do you mean then? Take your time, don’t mind me…” she was smiling by now. “You’re teasing me, right?” Carol noticed poking her hand playfully. “You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?” Biting her lip, she tried to suppress a laugh. “Babe,” Therese said winking at her, “I know I’m not just another lay for you…” by now she was already on the verge of some serious giggles, “but why worry defining everything at this point? I want to be with you and I’m not going anywhere.” Carol’s eyes seemed to grow hazy. “You’re sitting awfully far away from me,” she said tenderly. “I don’t like it one bit.”

* * *

“Tell me more about this Natalie person,” Therese requested halfway through her bucketful of mussels with Normandy cream and homemade fries. “Natalie Clifford Barney? Sure.” Carol’s smile widened. “She had a way with the words although she wasn’t much of a real poet. I love some of her quips like ‘people say it’s unnatural but it has always come naturally to me’ referring to homosexuality and ‘most virtue is a demand for greater seduction’.” Therese couldn’t believe how she hadn’t heard of her before.

“She had a fifty-year relationship with Romaine though it was far from monogamous. Both had a lot of affairs with other women,” Carol explained, “Natalie especially slept with every fancy French woman she could get her hands on. She’s been told to have hit on women even at the department stores… I mean _who_ picks up girls at the sales floor?” she laughed heartily. Therese could somehow see it happen, though. “Natalie was still active when she was over eighty which Alice B. Toklas found miraculously wonderful.” Carol stopped to catch her breath. “But the really marvelous thing about her was the consistent support she showered the numerous artists and refugees with all those decades.” She smiled inwardly just the way Therese loved so very much.    

“She also used to say that ‘lovers should also have their days off’ which I think is quite brilliant.” Carol cast a meaningful glance at Therese. “Now why do I feel there’s a hidden message for me somewhere here?” Therese asked quirking her eyebrow. “Not really hidden, darling, since I’m telling you now. I think it’s important to remember right from the beginning to take time for yourself as well even though you’re in the first, madly passionate stages of a relationship.” She waited a while before continuing.

“It may feel odd and wrong and impossible even but it will eventually keep the flame alive instead of suffocating it altogether. And things do change in a relationship. It changes over time, and if one is not careful enough, one may notice – well, that she hasn’t noticed it soon enough.” Carol knotted her brow and looked at Therese. “Does this make any sense to you?” Therese thought about it for a while. “Yes, as a matter of fact it does.” She smiled remembering her own musings at Waterloo station. “It’s about minding the gap.” Carol looked at her somewhat surprised. “The gap? You _mind_ elaborating on it a bit?” Therese told her all about it.    

* * *

“I’ll have the millefeuille with the vanilla cream and the hazelnut cake for her, s’il-vous-plaît…” Carol handed out the dessert menu. “I swear I have never met anyone with such an interest in food…” Therese laughed. “Is it a bad thing?” Carol almost purred. “No, I love it. I will forever associate food with you so whenever I’m eating, I’ll be thinking of you.” Therese eyed her bawdily. “Now there’s an association I doubt I’ll forget anytime soon…” Carol concluded rolling her eyes.     

“Talking about eating…” Therese continued, “I don’t know about you but I, for one, am not satisfied yet.” A suggestive smile lingered on her lips. “Oh really? I thought this has been quite a meal already… such a _tender_ goose _breast_ , wonderfully _succulent mussels_ and all of it followed by this _divine sweetness_.” Carol looked suddenly _very_ pleased with herself. “You want to talk about it now, darling? I’m game if you are but it will make the trip back to our hotel feel much longer than it is…”

Therese felt suddenly flushed but she wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “I talked to you last night and I recall it having quite an effect on you as well.” Remembering, Carol lost her composure for just a moment. _Game on_. “Fine, have it your way,” she smiled adoringly, “and you can bet your ass I will have mine. I have just the perfect spread for my personal indulgence in mind…” Therese could feel all blood escaping her brain and flooding towards her nether regions within a fraction of a second. “Could we get the check _now_?”    

* * *

They hailed a taxi as soon as they got out of the brasserie. Once inside it was nearly impossible for Therese to keep her hands to herself. She unbuttoned her shirt just a little making sure Carol noticed it. Blushing, she did. “Please, I can hardly contain myself as it is…” Carol whispered acutely aware of the driver glancing every once in a while in the rear view mirror. Therese pressed her back against the side door and placed one arm on the window pane and the other on top of the bench seat. Parting her legs she opened her lap seductively just to make her lover even more uncomfortable during the short and far too long a ride back to their hotel.

While Carol paid the driver, Therese opened the door for her and finally pulled her up from the backseat. The movement was quick, commanding and left no room for misinterpretation, but when Carol reached out to hold her hand Therese avoided her touch deliberately. Maintaining eye contact she kept her wicked distance all the way through the lobby and into the elevator.

Inside the booth Therese approached Carol boldly and pressed her against the back wall. She took her time inhaling her fragrant nearness which seemed not only to fill her nostrils but the entire claustrophobic space as well. Hearing Carol breathe heavily against her she slipped her hands under her blouse finding the lacy surface of her bra. She could only hope the elevator wouldn’t stop between floors but even if it did she doubted if she would be able to stop herself now. Dropping her other hand to explore what was under Carol’s skirt Therese could feel her own arousal taking better of her.

The elevator blinged open suddenly and a couple waiting outside entered the booth. Carol withdrew immediately averting her eyes from the astonishment their behavior had caused in the new arrivals. Blushing, Therese gritted her teeth all the way to the top floor trying hard not to look at Carol who stood next to her arms folded. Her blonde curls were a delightful mess and noticing it from the corner of her eye was almost too much for Therese. The couple who rode with them all the way up had most likely intended to take an elevator down instead since they remained in the booth once Therese and Carol exited. Realizing they’d been caught anyway, Carol couldn’t help herself. Stepping out she grabbed Therese’s ass provocatively making the innocent bystanders gasp out of sheer shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for something really good to read, here's a page turner: 
> 
> Diana Souhami: Wild Girls. Paris, Sappho and Art: The Lives and Loves of Natalie Barney and Romaine Brooks.
> 
> And do see the film Brief Encounter by David Lean, after all it did give Todd Haynes the structural basis for Carol.


	15. Notting Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter of Waterloo, thank you for reading and especially THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVELY SUPPORT <3

“Are you nervous?” Carol asked smiling. “Yeah, a little,” Therese admitted sheepishly. “Don’t be. There’s no reason whatsoever. She’s going to love you, just like I do.” Carol tucked her hand in hers. _You do?_   Therese didn’t dare to ask it out loud. _It’s a figure of speech, you dumbass_.

Carol had stayed at Therese’s place the previous night, and now they were to spend the evening at Carol’s apartment in Notting Hill. It wasn’t the first time for Therese to stay overnight there but it was another kind of first: Rindy would be there with them as well, and up till now they hadn’t even met properly.

It was a crisp Saturday morning and they were walking around Bloomsbury to work up an appetite for a hearty brunch. It occurred to Therese they had never done London together, only Paris so far. She was eager to share the places she loved with the person she loved. Even if Carol hadn’t exactly meant that she loved her as Therese hoped she would, she herself was in love nevertheless. It had become so obvious to her over the past month they’d been back at home. 

They ended up in front of 30 Torrington Square where Carol spotted an old stone plaque on the wall. “Here lived and died Christina Georgina Rossetti, poetess born 1830: died 1894,” she read out loud.  Smiling, Therese took one look at the distinguished Georgian terrace and started:

>   _She cried, “Laura,” up the garden,_
> 
> _“Did you miss me?_
> 
> _Come and kiss me._
> 
> _Never mind my bruises,_
> 
> _Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices_
> 
> _Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,_
> 
> _Goblin pulp and goblin dew._
> 
> _Eat me, drink me, love me;_
> 
> _Laura, make much of me;_
> 
> _For your sake I have braved the glen_
> 
> _And had to do with goblin merchant men.”_

Astonished, Carol stared at her. “Excuse me..?” Therese chuckled unabashedly. “It’s from Christina Rossetti’s famous Goblin Market. For some reason I have memorized this particular part.” Her expression was smug to say the least. “But no, it’s not some Pre-Raphaelite lezzie dream… it’s a cautionary tale for kids, at least Rossetti, a devout Catholic, wanted her readers to think so,” Therese continued. “Many have attempted to interpret it, but I think no one’s really gotten to the core of it. It’s a long poem about these two sisters, Laura and Lizzie, who hear the call of the forbidden fruit,” she smiled knowingly.

“Not being able to resist it, Laura ends up tasting some and becomes addicted, so when she starts to waste away, Lizzie comes to her rescue…” Carol was intrigued to say the least. “But the part you just recited was about Lizzie having eaten some as well, right?” Therese nodded. “She comes up with the bright idea that her sister could be rehabbed by having _just a little more_ of the same thing! And she’s right.”

Carol looked at her curiously. “Really? It worked? Whatever made Rossetti think of it, I wonder?” Therese was quick to elaborate. “Christina’s brother, the painter Dante Rossetti, was addicted to laudanum and he died of an overdose as did his wife as well, so the concept of addiction and maybe even rehab probably hit Christina close to home. And of course the poem is filled with religious symbolism as well. It’s also been analyzed from a feminist perspective. After all she doesn’t write about mere goblins but goblin _men_.” They both chuckled and continued their tour.   

* * *

“This area of London is so filled with history and historical figures like T.S. Eliot, The Pankhursts’ suffragette family, Virginia Woolf, Hilda Doolittle, John Maynard Keynes, Lytton Strachey, even Charles Dickens for a time,” Carol marveled. “I’m positively thrilled to share it all with you,” she said tightening her hold on Therese’s hand. “But I do have to ask you one thing since we’re both expats… Do you ever think of going back home? To New York?” Therese glanced at Carol uneasily. “What do you mean? I have my work here.”

Carol sighed. “Yes, _you_ do but I don’t, and I’m not sure how long I can afford living here. The divorce was very costly and London is an expensive place… if it weren’t for Abby, I don’t know where Rindy and I could possibly afford to live.” Carol was renting her Notting Hill apartment from Abby, and Therese was certain the price she paid was very attractive indeed. 

“So what are you saying? You’re thinking of moving back to the States?” Therese was suddenly terrified. “I’m not saying anything,” Carol replied after a weighted silence. “It’s just that I may have to at some point… I need to get a job.” _What about us_ , Therese wanted to shout out, but the words stuck to her throat.       

They moseyed past the Tottenham Court Road tube station all the way to Soho. Therese wanted to treat Carol to a brunch at one of her favorite eateries, The Dean Street Townhouse. Entering the lovely establishment she was however depressed by what Carol had said. It loomed over her like an inescapable shadow as they were seated at their table. “There used to be a popular celebrity club in this building in the late 1920’s, you know. People like Noël Coward, Tallulah Bankhead and Fred Astaire were among its clientele…” Therese tried to sound excited but failed miserably.

“Darling…” Carol began looking at her closely, “Do you think _I want_ to go back to the States? Now that I’ve finally found you..?” She took Therese’s hand in hers. “You are young and you have an amazing career ahead of you. I would never dream of –” she stopped abruptly. “Dream of _what_?” Therese asked sharply. “What would you never dream of?” Carol averted her eyes. “I would never keep you from achieving everything your heart desires.” Therese shrugged angrily. “You seem to have an awfully low opinion of me,” she managed to say. “Why on earth would you say something like that?” Carol demanded to know. She looked hurt.

“How the fuck do you know what I want?” Therese spat out. “You don’t even ask, you just assume!” Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. The Bloody Mary she had been sipping tasted foul all of a sudden. She dropped her fork on the plate unable to touch the Eggs Benedict in front of her. She shook her hand off Carol’s grip and folded her arms.

“You’re being very childish, Therese,” Carol said in a very cool voice. Therese could tell she was angry as well. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Therese raised her eyes to meet hers. “Really? Not say a word to me? Maybe you should’ve just slipped a note under my door after you’ve left, is that what you’re saying?” She was out of line and she knew it. Carol flung her napkin on the table. “You know what? I’ve lost my appetite and I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to meet Rindy today after all.” She got up to leave. “I told you because I wanted you to know _my_ situation, and I didn’t want to be selfish about us. But I guess it was too much to expect for you to understand what I was trying to get across.” The look in her gray eyes was pained. “What you just said… that was a low blow.” She grabbed her coat and left.          

* * *

Therese was shaking all over. She wanted to run after her and beg for her forgiveness. She had said a terrible thing out of spite, out of her fear of losing her. At the same time Therese knew she had to come to grips with the new reality, with the fact that Carol might have to leave London and relocate in New York.

A bit later she called Dannie and got lucky – he was practically just around the corner having brunch with Paul at Princi on Wardour Street. Therese would be more than welcome to join them. “Hi guys,” she greeted the lovebirds. “Aren’t you a sad sight,” Dannie commented, “what brought this about?” Therese sat down at their table and explained the situation. “You lesbians…” Dannie scoffed, “you always have such a flair for dramatics – or at least _you_ do!” he chuckled. “Did it ever occur to you that you could in fact _ask her_ what this change – _which is by no means even certain yet –_ would mean for the two of you before losing it altogether?” Ashamed, Therese bowed her head.

“So you had a fight, big deal! It’s not the end of the world though I’m sure you’ve been crying your eyes out at Soho Square ever since she stormed out…” _You know me so well_ , Therese thought averting her gaze once more. “It’s good to fight, be glad you know _how_ to fight but fight fair, for God’s sake – don’t hit her below the belt because that’s exactly what you just did.” Dannie’s voice was serious. “Go and apologize, take her flowers, tell her how you feel, goddammit!”

Therese nodded sheepishly. “I know, you’re right but I am afraid of fighting. It’s so much easier to let things slide…” she started. “And what good has it ever brought you, may I ask?” Dannie pointed out. “You never fought with Genie, you never really voiced your dissent nor did she. You just passive aggressively went along with everything keeping your true feelings bottled up.” Therese stared at her untouched _pain au chocolat_. “I have to go.” Dannie smiled. “Yes.” Paul handed her a paper bag with a sly smile. “Take these with you…” The bag was filled with Italian cannolis. She kissed them both on the cheek and ran out of the restaurant to catch the tube from Tottenham Court Road. The Central line took her to Notting Hill Gate in less than ten minutes.

Therese stopped by to buy a bouquet of flowers on her way to Carol’s home on Portobello Road. She loved the neighborhood although the overflow of people on market Saturdays always made her anxious. Today was no different and she was nervous already. Carol’s place was a beautiful, small British blue house with a set of stairs leading up to a bright red door. She took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. 

Carol opened the door. She stared at Therese not saying a word. “I’m so sorry. I was horrible earlier, will you forgive me?” Therese pleaded her eyes filling with tears. “Come in,” Carol said softly taking her hand. “Rindy’s on the phone so we’ll have a minute to ourselves…” They stepped into the living room.

“It was a hateful thing to say, and I didn’t mean it, it’s just that…” Therese searched for words. “I can’t stand the idea of losing you.” She looked at Carol who had sat on the couch. “Why would you lose me?” Therese went to her. “I don’t know… you being in another country, so far away.” Carol gazed right into her eyes. “So you would prefer to be with me no matter what… _would you_?” Her question brought a warm smile on Therese’s face. “Yes, yes I would.” She touched Carol’s face gently and felt the corners of her lips curve upwards under her fingertips. As she was about to lean in to kiss her, a sound of footsteps grew louder. Rindy was coming downstairs.

* * *

“So you’re Mom’s new girlfriend?” Rindy asked straight away after less than a formal introduction. Surprised by such directness, Therese nodded at first. “Yeah,” she mumbled a moment later. “You’re pretty.” Rindy circled her around as if Therese were to be auctioned off. “Thanks…” But the girl wasn’t through with her yet. “I suppose you’ll be kissing an awful lot?” Therese could feel her cheeks turning red. “Come now, sweetie, give Therese a break,” Carol laughed wrapping her arms around Therese. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable,” she kissed Therese gently on the lips. “Oh, _puh-lease_ , get a room…” Rindy complained rolling her eyes. “I’m going to see Sarah now, I’ll be back for supper. Bye.” The whirlwind of a girl was gone in a second.

“That was… awkward,” Therese managed to say. “I think it went very well,” Carol corrected. “She likes you, I can tell.” She looked at Carol not really believing what she had just said. “I seriously doubt it. I acted like a clumsy fool.” She _had_ but maybe it would become easier in time.

“Now where were we?” Carol teased purposefully. “Oh yes, kissing, wasn’t it? The early stage of the chemical bath…” She grinned at Therese. “But not until we talk some more, okay? I want the make-up sex feel like we’ve really made up before we get into it.” Therese wouldn’t have minded getting into it right away but Carol did have a point, she had to admit. “Okay, if you insist,” she smiled.

“So… should we… maybe… possibly… talk about, eh… feelings?” Therese started cautiously while they were having coffee and cannolis. “Or is it too early?” she hesitated staring at Carol. “It is very early but it would be kind of foolish not to say out loud something that is obvious, at least for me.” Therese could have sworn she saw Carol’s hands tremble just a little bit. “I mean just to leave something unsaid because of some unwritten law that it is improper to say something before a certain amount of time has passed is just…” Therese was utterly amused. “Carol! You’re rambling.” A wave of affection engulfing her she found it suddenly so very easy to take the initiative, to be the first one to say it. “Carol, I love you.”   

* * *

“Babe, we can’t do it tonight…” Therese couldn’t believe she had to utter such words while Carol’s tongue was starting fire all over her body. “Don’t you want to?” she asked raising her blonde head to meet her gaze. “Christ! Of course I want to, how can you even ask that, but your daughter is in the next room…” she grumbled. Carol wiped a stubborn hair out of her mouth. “I absolutely refuse to listen to such nonsense. What are you saying? That we’ll only have sex in Covent Garden from now on?” she sounded almost hurt.

Therese wanted Carol to continue yet she couldn’t find the right words to express her concern. “I have an idea,” Carol added her eyes full of mischief. “Why don’t you adjust your screams a bit below their normal decibel level,” she suggested, “so we can maintain the geo-sexual balance between our respective neighborhoods… would that work for you, my love?” Giggling, Therese wrestled herself on top of her. “I have an even better idea! I’ll do the balancing act and you’ll do the adjusting…”

* * *

_Three years later_

“Do you still have time for a cup of coffee? I know the lunch hour is over but we didn’t actually eat… you know, lunch.” Therese grabbed Carol’s waist while they were heading towards the tube station. “I think so. I have my next meeting in an hour and a half, and it’s right here in the neighborhood.” Carol had a job as an editor at Penguin Books.

 _“Therese!”_ An eager shout reached their ears from the other side of the street. “There’s a woman calling your name, darling.” Carol spotted her first. Therese looked at the direction Carol was pointing at and a wide smile spread over her face. The woman on the opposite side was grinning as well. “C’mon, babe, I’d like you to meet someone.”

They crossed the street Therese holding on to Carol’s hand. “Genie!”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious about Goblin Market? Read its entirety here:  
> http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44996
> 
> Once more, thanks - you've been absolutely awesome letting me know how you feel about Waterloo. If you have time, drop me a line below :)


End file.
